


Milton Heights: The Constant Gardener

by DarkwingSnark



Series: Disney AU Collab [2]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney AU - Fandom, James and the Giant Peach - Roald Dahl, Winnie-the-Pooh (Disney), neighborhood au - Fandom
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 89,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Milton Heights is the very seat of propriety...after all, the greater part of propriety is hiding what you're doing. And it's best done when you have friends to help you.</i>
</p><p>Vernon Centipede was a man on a mission and nothing was going to stop him. Mr. Grasshopper, recently made lover of the dashing young devil, has been dancing remarkably well around all interrogations about his past...And the gardener wants to know why. Nicely dressed, with all his usual tenacity, Centipede teams up with young James Henry Trotter to solve the mystery.</p><p>Meanwhile, Mr. Rabbit has his own troubles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fraternizing with the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to ["Milton Heights: Growing Love"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/872885/chapters/1676987)

If one was to be perfectly honest, Vernon Centipede had found himself growing awfully fond of Sundays. Until a couple months ago, it was just another work day. A day where the freckled faced redhead would slave away in the sun, trimming hedges and mowing the little lawn owned by the garden's home owner. Sometimes things would switch up and he'd get to plant new lilies, or he would have to fix a mess a mole made in the yard. But besides the occasional glance or nod from his boss, he had been left alone to his own devices.

Vernon smiled fondly as he looked over his sunburnt shoulders at his beloved boss. He could feel his own gaze grow warmer as he saw the olive tone man sitting in the newly dressed backyard, sipping his tea with his female companion. Mrs. Ladybug had been talking about something or another, and Mr. Grasshopper seemed to be holding onto her every word. Or so he had thought, until the redhead spotted a brown eye giving a quick peek at him from the corner of his vision. Vern made sure to give a wink, before readjusting his hat and going back to planting the new flowers the older man had ordered to replace the last damaged batch.

Mr. Grasshopper felt himself begin to smile in a rather silly fashion, having spotted the wink Vern threw his way. There was something about the man that just made him absolutely stupid.

Mrs. Ladybug put her hand on Mr. Grasshopper’s knee.

“Love,” she said, laughing at him softly. “I understand that you’ve got quite a distracting sight before you, but I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I said.”

“A thousand apologies,” he murmured.

“So nice to see you in love, my dear,” Mrs. Ladybug sighed.

Mr. Grasshopper tapped her hand lightly. “Nothing of the sort,” he said very softly, smiling thinly. “You were saying, my dearest?”

He was starting to love Sundays rather ardently, as it happened. While Vernon might occasionally come to visit on other occasions, he could be guaranteed of seeing his lover on Sundays. And when he spent so much of his time--an embarrassing amount, truly--thinking about Vernon during the week, he was quite eager just to see the man again, let alone wanting to be near to him. Watching him working in the garden, slick with sweat and sun-baked and playful as a satyr made Mr. Grasshopper want to drag him off to some secluded corner and show him just how much he’d been on his mind.

“--but of course, no one has seen Mr. Rabbit in days and days,” Mrs. Ladybug said, and Mr. Grasshopper rapidly switched gears.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, concerned. “Is he ill?”

“I don’t know, dear, but I can’t imagine so,” Mrs. Ladybug shrugged. “No one’s heard of him since the winner of the gardening competition was announced.”

“Oh dear,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured, sipping his tea. “I suppose I ought to go over and express my condolences. The poor man must be crushed.”

He felt no real affection for Mr. Rabbit--he’d been much too rude to Vernon--but the man had only wanted to do well and he’d let his hopes and desires run away with him to the point of disrespect. It was an honest mistake, and if he was so hurt by the loss, Mr. Grasshopper couldn’t help but feel that it was the right thing to go and wait on him.

“Are you going to need someone to go along with you, dearie?” Mrs. Ladybug asked, concerned. “I'm sure either Vernon or I would be more than happy to assist you. Or at least tag along.”

Mr. Grasshopper waved off her concern, before taking another sip of Earl Grey. Finishing with a smile, loving the taste and feel of his afternoon tea, he turned his attentions to his female companion.

“No need for all that, Buggy. I do believe it would be for the best if I handled this on my own accord. “

“If you're sure...”

“Absolutely positive.”

“And you won't even reconsider taking Vernon?”

“Rosie...”

The woman sighed, before giving up in the battle she knew she would not win. She placed her small hand onto the knee of her dear friend, she gave a small smile of encouragement.

“Well, okay dear. But remember we are here if you change your mind.”

And so the rest of the afternoon went along splendidly. The two older folks discussing the neighborhood and charities, and sometimes Mr. Grasshopper throwing in an anecdote about what happened at his latest performance. By the time two came around, they had finished their tea and conversation and Mrs. Ladybug was preparing to leave. She made sure to pat the hard working gardener on the back as she left.

The Brooklyn man got up from his knees, his lower back sore as he tried to give it a quick stretch. He walked over to the home owner, covered in dirt.

“Buggy left already, eh? What, gentlemen callers she need to attend to?”

“Behave yourself,” Mr. Grasshopper said in a voice much more fond than admonishing. “I shall have you know that she is merely visiting with a few old school friends.”

“Yeah? Well, that leaves you’n me alone for the evening, doesn’t it?” Vern asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“It certainly does,” Mr. Grasshopper agreed, looking Vernon up and down. “Would you be free for supper, Vernon?”

“Gee, lemme check my calendar,” Vern replied, rolling his eyes and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I can just fit ya in.”

“I appreciate your flexibility on the subject of scheduling,” Mr. Grasshopper smiled. “Perhaps I could persuade you to make use of my shower to refresh yourself?”

“Well, depends. You wanna join me?” Vern asked.

Mr. Grasshopper cleared his throat. “The idea is not at all without merit and in other conditions I might well take you up on the generous offer,” he replied. “However, I have a brief errand to run and I believe I can finish it in time to intercept you on your way out of the bathroom.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“A small social call I need to pay,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “It shall not take long and I do not wish to bore you with it. When I return, I can promise you my undivided attention.”

Vern knew first hand how nice it was to be on the receiving end of Grasshopper’s undivided attention. “All right. Sounds like a plan.”

Mr. Grasshopper nodded politely, and was beginning to make his way out his yard, when he was pulled back by the back of his collar. He was then turned around, as two dirt cover hands grabbed both sides of his face. Before the gentleman could protest, his lips were stolen in a playful kiss. His bottom lip suckled and was delightfully between the teeth of his redheaded lover. Before the man could get fully lost to the sensations, Vernon pulled back in a cheeky smirk, letting go and walking towards the house.

“Now hurry up n' get your sweet ass home, “ the gardener exclaimed over his shoulder. And with a few steps he made it inside the home, through the backdoor.

In all honesty, this made the Englishman's heart not into his visit he was about to have. Theodore sighed, taking out a handkerchief to wipe off the mess on his person. Drat to him, that egotistical fool. And drat to himself for being tempted by his ways. However, Mr. Grasshopper had responsibilities, he had his moral obligation to look into his neighbor’s well being. He...He...

He had better start off before the old man decided to not go at all. And with a turn of his heel, a quick fixing of his collar and tie, it took only a few strides to be out of the Englishman’s beloved garden and to the sidewalk.

* * *

 

This had been kind of a tough week, as far as Tigger was concerned. Summer school started in just a few days and in all the time leading up to it, he hadn’t seen Rabbit since he had watched the judges move through his neighbor’s yard.

It was really, really strange to see that huge vegetable garden without anyone in it--he was pretty certain he saw a weed in there the other day. Rabbit hadn’t been outside in days and no matter what time Tigger knocked on his door, he hadn’t answered. It was starting to seriously worry him, and the only thing that kept him from seriously going after his friend was the fact that the lights turned on at night.

He dribbled his basketball and carefully tossed a three-point shot, clucking his tongue as it ricocheted off the rim.

“I’m losing my bounce!” he said, jogging after the ball.

Picking it up, he glanced at Rabbit’s place again. He noticed one of the neighbors from down the block walking up to Rabbit’s house.

“Oh, hey!” Tigger called. The man, a tall guy in ritzy clothes, stopped short and looked at him.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, a question in his voice. “Pardon, do you happen to know if this is Mr. Rabbit’s home?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s him. Do you know what’s up?”

“Has he been...in trouble?”

Tigger dropped the ball and hopped the fence to come stand on the sidewalk. “Yeah, nobody’s seen him in days. You got any idea what’s going on? I’m Tigger, by the way.”

“Ah, well, hello...Mr. Tigger.” Theodore hesitated, finding something not quite natural about the sound of it. He, however, carried on despite it. “ Mr. Grasshopper. As for the condition of Mr. Rabbit...I'm afraid I am just as much at a loss. I have only heard of his state and wish to check in on him.”

The older man gave the darker skinned one a look over; as chipper as the athletic man seemed to come off...it was obvious that the state of the teacher's well being concerned him, from the way his eyes pleaded for any information that the Englishman could give him. For a moment, Mr. Grasshopper couldn't help but question the relations between the two. No matter, it wasn't any of his business.

“Ah, Mr. Tigger, “ the older man began, straightening himself up, “Would you like to come with me to vi-”

“Would I! Come, Long Legs, Ra-Ra awaits!”

Mr. Grasshopper couldn't help but instantly regret his invitation. But as he saw the younger man run up to the door of the reclusive home owner, the Englishman internally sighed as he followed. No use turning back now, after all.

Tigger rang the bell three times and did his shave-and-a-haircut knock, ear pressed flat against the door. He’d been intending to try and coax Rabbit out anyway, but to have backup was pretty reassuring. “Hey, Bunny-Boy! Come on, man, you got company!”

Nothing.

Mr. Grasshopper stood beside him. “Mr. Rabbit?” he asked, not certain if it was even worth speaking. He wasn’t really the sort of person to stand outside of a person’s house and yell--that was so much more Vernon’s area of expertise.

There was a rustling behind the door, the noise of locks being undone, and the door opened with a sepulchral creak. Mr. Rabbit peered out, looking exhausted, pale, and miserable.

Mr. Tigger bolted forward and wrapped the man in an enormous bear hug. Mr. Grasshopper felt his eyebrows shoot up in astonishment as Mr. Tigger squeezed the obviously-shocked teacher.

“Ra-Ra! Where you been all this time? We’ve been worried about you, Bunny-Boy, ya really had me scared!”

“What? Tigger! Unhand me!” Mr. Rabbit flailed a little, cheeks red as the other man set him on his feet with another little squeeze. “And you!” he exclaimed, pointing at Mr. Grasshopper. “What! Have you come to gloat? Or threaten me again, like a common ruffian?”

“He threatened you?” Tigger asked, looking at Mr. Grasshopper with distrustful eyes.

Mr. Grasshopper cleared his throat. “Certainly not, sir,” he replied. “I have come to express my condolences and inquire after your well-being. I learned of your indisposition and I thought it only right to come and offer whatever comfort I can.” He shifted his weight a little, feeling terribly awkward. “I have met with the gentleman who owns the victorious garden and I think it may be a comfort to you to see who won. It is widely believed to have been an unmerited victory and I do not wish for you to believe yourself to be ‘beaten,’ as that is simply not the case.”

“Oh,” Rabbit glared as he wrapped his pink robe around himself tighter. “And what would you call it? What would you call my winning streak being stolen from me?”

“An event of the past, and now something to move on from.”

Rabbit became rigid, anger welling up in him. He made himself as tall as he could be, arching his spine before crossing his arms across his chest. Finally his anger erupted.

“Move on? He wants me to move on, can you believe that? Ha! Let me ask you something, Mr. Grasshopper, when did you decide to enter the competition? Was it months? A year? Were you busy all year long putting nothing but effort into the competition, not only staking out others yards, but also making sure yours was at tip top perfection? Did you lose sleep, neglect other aspects of whatever you would call a social life, to be one hundred percent focused on winning?”

Theodore took off his monocle and gave it a good clean, a part of him concerned the shorter man's crazed ramblings had put spittle on his eyeglass. Feeling it clean, Mr. Grasshopper returned it to his poor eye. He took in a calming breath before replying.

“I'm sorry to say that, no, we did not go into such meticulous planning. In fact, it was all rather spontaneous. It was Ver-, “ the older man coughed into his hand, catching himself before correcting himself. “Excuse me. I was saying that my gardener, Mr. Centipede, was the one who asked to join in on the festivities. I, on the other hand, had no interests one way or the other. Yet, I like to think, in the end, I came out on top.”

The pale man began to relax, his anger cooling down as he returned back to his more pitiful state. The bags under his blue eyes seemed to grow heavier as he lost his passion. Rabbit was so stressed and down, he didn't even attempt to shake of the dark skinned man that wrapped a comforting arm around him.

“Why? Because you got to make me look like a fool?”

“Because I have a beautiful garden to enjoy,” Mr. Grasshopper said, somewhat astonished. “I had...I had thought that that was rather the point of the endeavor as a whole, sir. It never crossed my mind as a goal, to humiliate the hard work of others. I merely wanted a pleasing and elegant backyard, and a gardener happy and proud of his own hard work. And that does not take away from you, either. You may have lost this year’s event but you still have a garden which you seem to love dearly and of which you take exquisite care.”

Rabbit opened his mouth to snap at him, only to stop short. “I...”

“My dear man,” Mr. Grasshopper said, “you simply can’t let this kind of thing wound you so terribly. You must have forgotten more things about gardening than that panel of judges will ever know! Their opinion cannot matter when they so patently had not a bit of your love for your garden.”

“Well and good for you to say,” Rabbit said rather petulantly, blowing his nose in a handkerchief. “But that trophy--”

“Aw, c’mon, Ra-Ra,” Tigger said, squeezing Rabbit around the waist. “Long Legs has a point! You gotta great garden out there and it looks like it’s missing you. Those judges were jerks anyway.”

“Would it convince you, if you could see the garden that won?” Mr. Grasshopper asked. “I do not wish to further distress you, but perhaps if you could see that this was not a fair contest at all, it would lose some of its power over you.”

Rabbit held himself, trying to keep himself together. His delicate hands made their way to his face, before using one palm for comfort, and the other hand to sweep back his messy blonde hair. The crazed teacher bit his bottom lip, obviously in some sort of internal conflict. Finally, what felt like ages to all involved, Rabbit sighed.

“Okay, “ he croaked out, “ Y-yes...Just...Just let me get dressed first.”

Mr. Grasshopper nodded in agreement, not thinking it civilized to visit anyone in just their underthings. If it weren't for the man's state, he would have been embarrassed to see him in what he was wearing.

“Yes, of course. Take your time, and then we shall show you that your worry was for naught.”

“Great!” Tigger exclaimed, slapping his favorite person on the back from his excitement. “ See, we'll get you all fixed up Bunny-Boy! We'll jus' go up and find you somethin' nice and comfy an-”

“Oh no you don't!” Rabbit cried, pushing the man off of him. “You will wait outside!”

“But...”

“OUT!”

And with one final push, the pale teacher had removed the athletic man from his home, pushing him into the long legs of Mr. Grasshopper. Not even checking to make sure either of them were okay, Rabbit could be heard locking all the doors again. Hopefully going off to change.

Mr. Grasshopper had managed to catch himself on the porch post when Tigger had barreled into him and now clung to it rather desperately. Tigger righted himself and looked over at him. “You all right, Long Legs?”

Mr. Grasshopper swayed upright, feet firmly under him, and frowned slightly as he straightened his clothing. “I am fine, thank you, Mr. Tigger. I don’t suppose Mr. Rabbit is often so...volatile?”

Tigger sprang up to the porch railing, sitting on it and kicking his feet a bit. “Ra-Ra’s got a lot of feelings,” he said eloquently, shrugging his shoulders.

“I see,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “You are a...very good neighbor to him,” he added, seeking desperately to make polite conversation with this strange man.

“He’s my favorite person in the whole wide world!” Tigger said with a grin.

“How lovely,” Mr. Grasshopper remarked delicately. Oh yes. Definitely something going on here, not that it was even remotely any of his business.

“And it looks like you like him, too,” Tigger continued. “I was runnin’ out of ideas for how to get him out of his funk. Glad you stopped by! But...y’know, y’don’t seem like the kind of guy to go threatenin’ people, Long Legs. What was that all about?”

Mr. Grasshopper hummed in the back of his throat, arms behind his back. “I’m afraid Mr. Rabbit was very...distressed during one of our occasional meetings and in his passion he said some cruel, untrue, and slanderous things about someone...dear to me. I lost my temper rather badly, I’m afraid, though the only blow exchanged were verbal.”

Tigger nodded, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, Ra-Ra can sometimes be pretty mean. He doesn’t intend it, usually, but...yeah, I’m not surprised. I hope you two can get to being better friends, now!”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled slightly.

The door burst open and Rabbit stepped out onto the porch, dressed and considerably tidier of appearance than he had been. “A-All right,” he said, standing straight and tall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

And so the small party made their way down the street; Mr. Grasshopper lead the way, followed by Rabbit who practically stomped along, making the ever energetic Tigger the end of the line. There seemed to be a skip in his step, just happy that his dear neighbor was actually out of the house. His basketball shorts showed off his legs nicely as he sometimes walked side by side with the blonde haired man. It took quite a bit to remind Rabbit he was frustrated and on a mission, and had no to time to stare at muscled legs.

If the eldest man of the group noticed any of this, he made no indications one way or the other. And in no time at all they made it to the quaint home of the winner of the competition. Feeling a bit embarrassed to be back at the residence, under the same circumstances, Mr. Grasshopper still trudged on. Straightening up his collar once more, and sweeping back his white hair, he rang the doorbell.

Mr. Trusty answered and gave him a baleful expression, though it had a remarkably sincere smile to bely it. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, with a certain trace of long-suffering in his voice. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Hello again, sir,” Mr. Grasshopper said, noting with a small twitch of his lips that Trusty flicked a switch in the wall that didn’t appear to control any light or device on this side of the house. Perhaps he and his companion had a system. “I apologize for our intrusion.”

“Not at all,” Trusty replied. He turned to Rabbit. “I suppose you’re here to see the garden, then. Let me get you a drink, boy, since you’ll surely need it.”

“Oh no,” Rabbit moaned softly.

Trusty gave Mr. Grasshopper a significant look, apparently having decided that he was the sanest of the bunch, and disappeared into his kitchen.

“Is it really that good?” Rabbit asked, shuffling his feet. “I can’t stand to see my own garden blown out of the water...”

Mr. Grasshopper sighed. “It really is nothing to--”

“I don’t care what we see,” Tigger said, clapping Rabbit on the back. “Nothing’s better than your garden, Bunny-Boy. You put more love into that thing than anybody else in the world.”

Trusty reappeared with a simple shot of something dark and flammable, and Rabbit sniffed it delicately before knocking it back with an expression of distaste. He shuddered.

“All right,” he said weakly. “Let me see it.”

They marched out onto the back porch, where Jock was already waiting. He gave Trusty an apologetic look slightly marred by the grin he couldn’t quite hide. Trusty’s expression of amused reproach was not lost on either Jock or Mr. Grasshopper.

Rabbit kept his eyes on the floorboards and lifted his head with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. He felt himself shaking a little and was actually surprised by how comforting Tigger’s hand on the small of his back was. He’d have to yell at him later, but for now...well, it was really helpful.

Lungs full, he opened his eyes.

And stared.

And shouted.

“That’s it?!” he bellowed thoughtlessly, and Mr. Grasshopper just barely restrained the urge to clap his hand over his eyes out of embarrassment-by-association.

“Mr. Rabbit...”

“No, seriously, “ the man ranted, “my carrots, my summer squash, my prize winning tomatoes- all neatly done and organized to precision. MY garden, in all its purity, a paragon, perfection! It....It lost to a waste of dull and ordinary Kentucky Bluegrass?! To a few flowers scattered about and shrubbery!”

Tigger, in all his simplicity, just stared. He tilted his head to one side, and then the other, as if expecting something to pop out and for him to get what exactly he was seeing. Not that he was hating what he saw, oh no, he just didn't get what could have made this garden win over the likes of his beloved Bunny-Boy's lovely and lush yard. It must have just been something about gardening that he didn't get.

Mr. Grasshopper, however, felt himself grow more embarrassed; while the pale man verbally assaulted and put down the home they were all currently guests in, the darker skinned companion of his seemed ready to stand on his head just to see the yard- and it winning- from a different point of view. After momentarily questioning his sanity, and how he constantly found himself surrounded by the queerest of individuals, the tall man sighed before turning to the resident's owner.

“I am so terribly sorry.”

Mr. Trusty gave him a slow wink. “I’m sure I don’t feel offended at all,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any illusions about it, sir, and I know Mr. Rabbit’s had a hard time of it..”

 Mr. Jock nodded. “I think it’s good for the lad,” he added in an undertone. “Best to snap him out of his gloomy mood.”

Mr. Grasshopper winced as Rabbit’s rant continued. “Well!” he said, turning around and clasping his hands together in front of him. “I believe we have taken up enough of these gentlemen’s time, don’t you agree?”  
  
“And if you just take a look at that totally sparse patch of brown dirt over there--”  
  
Mr. Grasshopper gave Tigger a slightly wild-eyed look. “Mr. Tigger,” he said firmly. “Perhaps it is time for us to go.”  
  
Tigger was still pretty adrift, but he knew when it was time to skidoodle. He wrapped his arm around Rabbit’s shoulder and tugged him close. “Hey, Ra-Ra, let’s get outta these guys’ hair. I wanna show you the weed I thought I saw sticking out of the lettuce patch.”  
  
Rabbit stopped short. “The what?”  
  
“The weed.”  
  
“The weed?” Rabbit barked. “There are no weeds in my garden!”  
  
“Well, ya haven’t been out there in a week, so it’s kinda got wild out there, and--”  
  
Rabbit did the necessary calculations in his head. “Oh my God, you’re right! An entire week! I’ve been neglecting it--I must go home!”   
  
“Of course,” Mr. Grasshopper said, much relieved.   
  
“Let me see you gentlemen out,” Trusty said, exchanging glances with Jock and leading them back through the house. Rabbit only clasped his hand briefly before hurrying down the steps. Tigger gave him a quick hug and followed his neighbor closely.

Mr. Grasshopper paused and shook Mr. Trusty’s hand with a great feeling of gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir, for your unflagging kindness and hospitality,” he said, sighing a little. “I cannot express how grateful I am to you.”

  
“Nothing of the kind,” Trusty said magnanimously. “I’ll admit, he’s got a mouth on him, but I’d rather he be up and feeling better. I do think everyone was starting to get rather worried.”  
  
“I hope that this shall be the last of it,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a pale smile. “Thank you again.”  
  
“Take care of yourself, sir, and we’ll see you again soon.”  
  
“Absolutely. Please let me know when it would be convenient for me to invite you to tea,” Mr. Grasshopper said, and followed the more excitable gentlemen down the steps at a sedate pace.  
  
He walked down the street, finding himself quite abandoned by his previous companions, and paused as he stopped at Rabbit’s home. The younger man was already out in the garden, tearing out weeds.  
  
Mr. Grasshopper weighed his options carefully. He could leave it here and never be called upon to endure Rabbit’s incredible rudeness again, or he could extend the olive branch and try to establish a rather more comradely relationship with his neighbor.  
  
“Would you like to come to tea, Mr. Rabbit?” he asked. “Later in the week, perhaps?”  
  
Rabbit looked up at him from the handfuls of green he was pulling out of the ground. “In the week, yes,” Rabbit replied, “so very much to do now, I really can’t talk--”  
  
“I understand,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “I shall say good afternoon, then, and it is lovely to see you so much better.” He began to walk away, but when he caught sight of Tigger giving him a thumbs-up, he paused, and smiled, and waved.  
  
He was really looking forward to getting back to Vernon. This had nearly been more trouble than it was worth.

It didn't taken too much longer for the olive-toned man to make it to his own home. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but Theodore was positive his redheaded flame would already be out of the washroom and waiting for him to come inside. Though feeling mentally exhausted from the earlier exchange, the Englishmen felt a twitch of his mustache as he gave a small smile; he opened the door.

He was greeted loudly.

“Finally!”

Vernon had apparently been sitting on the sofa waiting for his return-- no doubt bored out of his mind as he had nothing to occupy himself with-- his hair still wet and dripping down the side of his face. Mr. Grasshopper couldn't help but find him attractive like that, despite the fact is lover was most likely making his couch unnecessarily moist.

Vernon went on, as he got up out of his seat.

“Took ya damn time, old man. Do you have any idea how BORING it is waiting around?”

“I do so apologize, “ the white haired man began, truly meaning it. “I did not believe I would take such a long time. However, I'm afraid the situation was much worse than I feared.”

This caused the Brooklyn born man to calm down, confusion taking over. And if Mr. Grasshopper was to take a guess-- also a bit of concern.

“Yeah? What happened?”

Mr. Grasshopper sat in one of the armchairs, not keen on a soggy sofa. “I visited Mr. Rabbit--”

  
“What?” Vern barked. “Why’d ya go and do a thing like that? The guy’s a jackass!”  
  
“Perhaps that is true,” Mr. Grasshopper allowed. “However, I learned that he has not been seen outside of his home and I thought I could at least pay my condolences on his loss and check up on him to make sure he wasn’t very distressed.”  
  
Vern furrowed his brows a little, looking rather confused. “Yeah? And?”  
  
“And he had not left the house, and he was letting his garden overgrow,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, taking off his monocle to polish it. “So I met with his neighbor, a Mr. Tigger, and we managed to persuade him to come see Mr. Trusty’s garden. It gave him some...perspective, although I daresay he expressed it very badly. I left him in much better spirits, and with an invitation to tea.”  
  
Vern ran a hand through his wet hair. “So...what was the point of that, exactly?”  
  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “It needed to be done.”  
  
“No, it didn’t,” Vern replied. “He was a dick t’me and he was a dick t’you. Didn’t owe him nothin’.”  
  
Mr. Grasshopper smiled thinly. “No, I suppose not,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I certainly couldn’t leave him like that, when I might help. It’s over now, and thank heaven for that.” He replaced his eyeglass and gave Vern a slightly sultry smile. “Now. I believe you were saying something earlier about wanting me home?”

Confusion made way for the gardener's more natural coy grin.

“Yeah, I wanted you home, and then some. I know I jus' got cleaned up and all, but I decided we both deserved t'get a lil' dirty. “

“I'm sure this can be arranged.”

Lips met zealously, as they maneuvered themselves upstairs. Neighbors and gardens quickly forgotten as limbs wrapped themselves around warm bodies, and clothes were ripped and scattered about the once cleaned home. Both men came at each other with a hunger, showing just how much they had missed the touch of the other in the long long week.

However, somewhere in the back of his mind-- deep under the haze of sexual desire and his passions-- Vernon Centipede couldn't help but think about what ol' Hops had done that day. He couldn't help but question why he felt it needed to be done. And deeper still, in the cracks and crevices of his subconscious, past the reptilian part of his brain that was looking forward to another good lay, Vernon couldn't help but feel some ache as he realized how little he truly knew of the guy he had worked and happily fucked senseless. How much a mystery the older gentleman truly was, and how he didn't know a damn thing about his past and what kind of man he once was.

'Yet,' the ginger thought as he brushed his needy flesh against the man under him, 'who's gonna think about any of that, when there are much more enjoyable matters to take care of....'


	2. The Man Who Never Was

Vernon never stayed the night.  

It was the only way to make things work, of course.  Vernon had to be at the community center early most mornings and it wouldn’t do for him to go to work in twice-worn clothing.   It was easier if they had a little fun and a bite to eat and then parted before the sky grew too dark.

Mr. Grasshopper had to actively restrain himself from making the offer of his bed for a night.  He forced himself to neglect to suggest that they throw Vernon’s things in the washing machine.  He bit his tongue to keep from observing that it was a much easier two-block commute to the community center from Mr. Grasshopper’s house, anyway.  

He harbored no illusions; he knew just the sort of man that Vernon was.  Vernon was not a man willing to remain settled with any one person for any serious amount of time, but even if he had been the kind to remain blissfully monogamous with the one he loved, he was certainly not in love with Theodore Grasshopper.  And he never would be.  The very idea that there could be any romantic feeling between them was of course extremely laughable.  A purely physical relationship was the only way they could conduct such an affair.

They were merely friends who thought about each other semi-constantly, enjoyed meals together, and had a great deal of--and yet somehow not nearly enough--deliriously good sex.  No more or less of an attachment that any of the happily mercenary liaisons Mrs. Ladybug had with her disposable men.  

Just a little fun.  A temporary amusement for Vernon and a bit of rough for him, and nothing more to it.

But of course that was such a lie.  He knew himself hopelessly in love with the man already, and no matter how he closed off his heart and his mind when they were in bed, he could never quite make himself feel any less the love that burned under his skin and sought to leak out in all his kisses and touches.  He could feel himself making love when it was absolutely nothing of the kind for his partner, his hands playing symphonies on his body and mouth pressing silent sonnets to Vernon’s skin with every kiss.  He could feel his breathless adoration beating against the backs of his teeth as he kept his jaws tightly closed, a thousand words of love only scarcely held back from an audience that would never want to hear them.

When it was over and Vernon had taken his smirking swagger and his heart of gold elsewhere, he had to throw away whatever remains there were of their dinner, no matter what promise Vernon had extracted from him that he’d eat it.  When he lay alone in bed at night, he had to remind himself that he was satisfied, face pressed against fresh sheets smelling of detergent and nothing at all like the man who was coming to own his heart.

Vernon must never know, of course.  It would be catastrophic; he would be gone before the last syllables left Theodore’s mouth.  And Theodore would do anything to keep the fruit of this incredible, impossible windfall; by all rights, Vernon should never have so much as kissed him, let alone spent so many wonderful hours in his bed.  His wish had been impossible and yet it had come true.  Nothing, not his mind or his soul or his idiot heart, could cause him to question or resent any part of it, for fear that it would disappear as suddenly as it had fallen into his lap.

Mr. Grasshopper was already deeply addicted to his touch and he mustn’t scare him off.  This had to run its entire course--he’d never forgive himself if he did something to reveal how much it all meant to him and scared Vernon off.  Vernon must only ever think it was physical, and perhaps a distant and platonic affection.  

He would keep it from him for as long as he could.

* * *

 

The afternoon after his visit with Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Grasshopper was rather surprised to find James waiting on his porch steps.  

“Good morning, my boy, what can I do for you?” he asked.  “Come in and have a glass of something cool--I daresay it’s much too hot to be out of doors all day.”

Little James was all smiles, as he greeted his uncle and hopped up from his seat. The young boy had his writing pad tightly in his grip, as he followed the adult into his home. They made their way to the kitchen, where Mr. Grasshopper was already beginning to pour the lad some of Mrs. Ladybug's famous Peach Ice Tea.  

“Well, Uncle Theodore, I was wondering if you could help me with my project for day camp.”

“Ah, homework. Always good to keep the young's minds active during the summer, I'm very pleased to hear it's not all fun and games down there.” He smirked, handing the boy the glass as he ushered him to the dining room table so they could sit and chat comfortably, without the chance of an accidental spill in his living room. “Now, my boy, what sort of project did you say this was? I will be more than happy to assist, if I have the ability to do so.”

James grinned cheerfully, as he took out his notepad.

“In camp we are learning about people of our community. 'To show us that greatness can be a lot closer to home,' they said. And so they assigned living history papers on those we know.” He paused, turning the page to show a cute little drawing of an easily recognizable Mrs. Ladybug. The old man could see writing on the other side, most likely accompanying the crayon drawing. “I need to do two, and I already did one on Aunt Rosie. She had lots of fun things to say!”

“I imagine she would,” the Englishman agreed with a fond twitch of his mustache.

“Well,” James continued, “that's why I'm here. I was wondering...would it be okay to do my last one on you?”

Mr. Grasshopper laced his fingers together.  He was sorry to have to disappoint the boy, but to oblige him would require him to dredge back up a part of his life he’d taken very careful precautions to bury as deeply and as thoroughly as possible.  He couldn’t let it raise it’s ugly head now.

“I’m afraid you won’t want me as the subject for your project, my dear boy,” Mr. Grasshopper replied.  “I’ve lived a terribly unremarkable life.”

“Oh, Aunt Rosie said the same thing, but she did all sorts of interesting things!”

“I’m sure she did,” Mr. Grasshopper said.  “But if I’m quite honest, I’ve just quietly lived here and taught violin lessons for the past forty years.  Before then, I was in England, doing much the same.  It’s really nothing at all interesting.  If you want a truly good subject for your paper, you ought to ask your mother.  Her story of coming to America from France is absolutely fascinating.”

James frowned a little.  “But you know so much about so many things!  You must’ve done something exciting.”

Mr. Grasshopper pretended to think.  “No...no, I’m sorry, my boy, but aside from the great excitement of recent years, my life really has been very, very quiet.”

James sipped his drink.  “Well...if you’re really sure...”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you, James,” Mr. Grasshopper said, quite honestly, “but I am sure you will have so much better luck with your mother.”

“All right,” James agreed.  “But if you change your mind, I’d still like to know about your life.”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled affectionately at the boy.  “Thank you, my dear lad.  You’ll be the first one I come to.”

* * *

 

James found Mr. Centipede mopping the floor outside the multipurpose room the next morning and hurried over to him.  “Mr. Centipede?”

The janitor pushed his cap up higher on his head.  “Yeah?  What’s up, kid?”

“I need to do my project on living history,” the boy said, “and Mr. Grasshopper is telling me that he’s lived a boring life and I know that isn’t true.  Do you know what he did before he settled down here?”

The ginger just blinked for a minute, as he processed the question over. Straightening himself up, he tried his best to not glare down at the boy, and act natural. “Any particular reason yer askin' me, kid?”

  
The brunet lad was not deterred from this reaction, and pushed on innocently.

“Well, I had only thought you two were friends. I know you guys have known each other for quite a few years, though I remember you weren't always the closest of friends. But I know you work for Uncle Theodore, and Aunt Rosie says you two spend time with each other outside of work and here.” James paused, looking away at his shoes-- suddenly finding himself a little shy the longer he was under the older man stare. “I had only hoped he may have told you at least a little about himself...”

Vern's found himself relaxing, and feeling a bit bad for upsetting the kid some. The redhead tried to give a reassuring smile, as he leaned forward onto his mop for support. He quickly readjusted his cap.

“Uh, ya know...I ain't actually in the know-how when it comes to Hops and his past lives.”

James looked back up, suddenly saddened from his leads dying before they even set off anywhere. He sighed.

“Oh, well, that's all right Mr. Centipede. I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

The young man started to turn away, when Vernon was quick to grab onto James’ striped sleeve.

“Woah, hey now. No need to go sulkin' off! Jus' cause I don't know anything don't mean we can't find out!”

“'We', sir?”

The janitor looked away, though with a sheepish smirk on his face.

“Well, yeah. 'We'. You need all the help you can get, I bet, and I'll admit...you got me curious now, myself.” If Hops wasn't spilling the beans to the kid he cherished, then it must be one heck of a secret. And Vernon wouldn't admit it to the boy, but James had reopened a spot in his curiosity that was just begging to be scratched. The kid might have needed him for his own innocent purposes...but it was also a good excuse to do a little snooping on his lover, as well. The janitor put his focus back on the lad. “So whaddya say? Interested in a lil' tag team?”

James grinned brightly.  “Yeah!  But...well, if Uncle Theodore doesn’t want to tell me, we’ll have to be very sneaky about it.”

“Hey, I can sneak with the best of ‘em,” Vern replied, flicking the brim of his cap.  “You’re going to learn your sneaking from a sneak grandmaster, kid.  I’m going to teach you to sneak like you’ve never snuck before!”

James was alight with excitement.  “Where do we start?”

“First thing you do,” Vern said, maybe a little hammier than usual, “is you gotta get close to the perp’s near and dear.  Think you can squeeze Mrs. Ladybug for info?  Turn on that charm of yours and get her talking?”  

“I can try!  I don’t know if she’ll say much, but I’ll find out what she knows.”

“Good,” Vern said, scrubbing his chin.  “I guess I’ll...work with the perp.  See if I can get him to slip and tell me something he won’t tell nobody else.”

“All right,” James agreed.  “I’ll ask her and my mum, too.  I think they’ve known each other for a while.”

“Good initiative, kid,” Vern said approvingly.  “Just keep it on the down low, got it?  Come and tell me what ya know tomorrow and I’ll see what I can pump outta Hops based on what you learned.”

“Right,” James replied, and scarpered off to rejoin his campmates and counselors.  

Vern straightened his cap on his head and grinned.  James was a good kid, and the ginger would readily tell anyone who asked that he cared for him, himself. The child just had that effect on people-- making adults alike, no matter who they were, fall for him. Plus, with the way he seemed to idolize the scruffy janitor, who was Vern to turn him away when he was in need?

The redhead nodded to himself, before going back to his cleaning. As always, it was quite easy for Mr. Centipede to get lost in his work. Mopping floors soon went to scrubbing windows. Scrubbing windows became cleaning up the lunchroom. And so on and so forth, job after job after job after job. It was only once he returned to his apartment-- late and pooped after a day of cleaning and a couple hours at his favorite bar-- did Vern vaguely wonder if James was at all successful, as he lost himself to the sweet release of sleep.

The next day Vern was sitting in the janitor's closet, taking his break and reading the sports section of the newspaper, when he heard a knock on the door. As the redhead looked up from seeing his team lose for the second game in a row- damn  those Dodgers!- Vernon saw the door creak open and a little head peek in.

“Mr. Centipede?”

“Well hey kid, “ Vern greeted, his brain suddenly getting a jolt as he recalled their plan. “Get the 411 from the dames?”

“No,” James sighed.  He looked furtively around.  “Can I come in here?  It says ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’”

“Yeah, I authorize ya,” Vern replied, leaning back in his seat and kicking his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.  The boy stepped inside and the door closed behind him.  “Whaddaya mean, ‘no’?”

“No,” James said simply, shrugging his shoulders a little.  “Aunt Rosie said that he sometimes talked about being onstage and Mum only said that his French was good.”

Ooh, yeah.  He gave real good French--Vern could back that one up.  “Onstage, huh?  We know he’s on there now.  That ain’t news.”

James shook his head.  “I mean, before.  So he hasn’t just been a music teacher all his life.”

Vern pulled out a stogie and stuck it in his mouth thoughtfully.  He wouldn’t hotbox with the kid in here, of course, but it helped him think.  “Huh.  Well.  Who else would know?”

“I’m not sure,” James said, frowning.  “He doesn’t have any picture frames and I’ve never seen any albums...I don’t know if he has any family besides us.”

Vern sat upright.  “Us?”

“Yes,” James replied, obviously a little confused.  “Me and Aunt Rosie and Mum.  And...maybe you?”

“Naw,” Vern said.  “Not family.  Good friends, though.”

James’ mouth wiggled a little oddly but he seemed to let it go.  “Anyway.  Were you able to pump anything out of him?”

Vern switched the cigar to the other side of his mouth.  “Naw...not yet.  I’ll get over there tonight or something, try’n infiltrate.  Lemme think...all right, y’know who’s been here since before they paved the roads?  Kluck.  Go see what she knows and maybe we’ll get something.”

“All right,” James said, sounding discouraged.  “I hope she knows something...”

“Somebody’s got to,” Vern replied, “guy can’t live in a place like this without somebody knowing his business.”

James left in a few more minutes and Vern fell to thinking.  No family?  Damn, that’s rough.  Sure, he didn’t think the guy’s parents would still be alive, but he figured there were at least siblings or something.  But when he thought about it, James was right--there were no picture frames or anything like that in the old man’s living room.  Just a few fancy paintings.

Vern kept his pictures everywhere.  Everywhere he turned in his apartment, there was some picture of him and his Ma, or him and his friends, or even a couple of ones of old girlfriends that he’d buried under old mail and such.  He even had one Tenebre and Mrs. Ladybug, a polaroid shot James had taken at the block party last year.

It must be weird to have such an empty house, he thought, and he shifted a little, feeling melancholy.

He’d have to visit the old man tonight, bring a little life into that house.  Sure, it wasn’t Sunday, there wasn’t any excuse, but he could usually find something to work on at Hops’ place. And a part of him couldn't help but think the guy wouldn't turn him away.

So with a plan in his mind, Vern looked at his watch as he realized his break was nearly over. Straightening up his cap, and taking a last gulp of the cold coffee next to him,  the ginger cracked his back as he got up. There was work to be done. The quicker he finished the quicker he could go visit his white haired fox, after all.

* * *

 

Mr. Grasshopper finished signing his name with a flourish, his black ink still wet and glistening on the stub of his checkbook. La Mer could be heard faintly in the background of his study, the music making bill paying less tedious and more pleasurable. It was in his workroom that he wore his spectacles, replacing his more fashionable monocle. The Englishman sighed as a lovely warm breeze came in from the opened window-- not at all strong enough to be a bother to his papers. It was with the chime of the old clock in the hallway, that Theodore looked up towards the wall clock next to his writing desk.

“Is that the time already, “ he mumbled to himself. “It's nearly an hour I should be considering supper.”

It was another lonely night; Mr. Grasshopper was not expecting his dear Buggy to try and fix him a little dinner. She had plans, she had told him the day before, with another one of her charities. The dear sweet woman had asked if the olive-toned man would like her to prepare a meal before she left for the event...However, Theodore had declined. She had things to do, and he was sure-- as a grown man in his old age-- that he could find a little something for himself. Mrs. Ladybug had been concerned, most likely fearing Grasshopper would just forget to eat all together, but was eventually won over by gentleman's reassurance.

That did, however, leave the home owner with no plans.

Mr. Grasshopper was startled from his thoughts as he heard his doorbell ring. Checking the clock once again, he had no idea who could be at his door. 'I suppose,'  the man mused, ‘I will just have to find out, won't I?' So taking off his glasses, and replacing it with his much preferred eyewear, he made his way out of his study and down the stairs.

He actually smelled his guest before he saw him, the rich, earthy smell of tobacco smoke hitting him the instant he opened the door.  Vernon Centipede stood on his front porch, smoking a cigar, hands in his pockets, lips quirked in an all-too inviting smirk.

“Vernon!  Good evening,” Mr. Grasshopper said, a little hesitant to invite the man in while he had his lips around a smoldering cigar.  “This is quite a surprise.”

“What?  A guy can’t come over and visit?” his caller asked, eyebrows jumping up.

“Of course you may, I am very happy to see you,” Mr. Grasshopper replied.  “But is everything quite well?”

“Sure,” Vern replied.  “Boring Tuesday, figured I’d swing by and see what was up.  You got company?”

“I do not,” Mr. Grasshopper said.  “Won’t you come in?  Ah, preferably without the cigar?”

“Stick-in-the-mud,” Vern grumbled, smirking, and dropped the cigar in the small pot he’d left on the porch for just such an occasion.  “We good?”

“Please, come in.”  Mr. Grasshopper might not want the lit product in his house, but he had to admit that he rather liked the smoky smell  and the way it clung to Vernon’s clothes.  It would dissipate in a few moments, but he couldn’t help but enjoy it while it lasted.  

This must be another of Vernon’s fits of boredom--he’d had them before, such as the occasion of the mid-contest rainstorm.  Perhaps this night wouldn’t be quite so lonely after all.  

At least for a while.

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” Mr. Grasshopper asked, tucking his arms behind his back.  “Coffee, tea--”

“You?” Vern asked, giving him a warm look.

The older man stiffened more out of habit, rather than out of  indignation. Still a part of himself was not used to being spoken to thus; and, Theodore thought, a bit too rapturously for his tastes, that he probably never would be. He took this time to sweep back his white hair, fingers between the tufts, as he collected himself--lest his heart soar too high, taking his body with him.

“Ah, well, I'm sure that can be arranged.”

“'Sure it can be arranged', sheesh, “ Centipede muttered fondly, repeating the other man's words. “Come here, Hops.”

No complaint was given as Mr. Grasshopper's tie was used to pull him down to the shorter man's height. Mouths met in want and greeting, being much more desired than any drink-- nothing else would fill the thirst's void, after all, but kiss after breathless kiss. It took everything in the gentleman not to melt and grasp onto the back of his brilliant flame's head and hair. Instead he went for balance and placed his nimble fingers on both sides of his lover's arms.

When Vernon finally pulled away, smug as the scoundrel he was, Theodore's mouth spoke before he could think to correct it.

“I hope that appeases your hankerings?”

Freckled cheeks and eyes glowed as Vernon couldn't help but chuckle.

“Never, but, ya know, it ain't a bad start!”

“Never, indeed,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured much too warmly, thinking cheerfully of his lover’s appetites.  “I’m sure I can find a way to appease the rest, at least for the time being.”

“Right now,” Vern said, “I really want some grub.  Think we can arrange that?” he asked.  He released the tie after pressing another quick kiss to Mr. Grasshopper’s mouth and let the man stand up straight.  

“Certainly,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, carefully straightening his tie and tucking it back into his waistcoat.  “My home is yours.  It is your choice--would you prefer we cook or order something?”

“Cook,” Vern said.  “‘Bout time someone taught you how to use a kitchen.”

“I know how to use a kitchen,” Mr. Grasshopper sniffed, hiding a smile as he lead the way into the room aforementioned.  “That’s where tea comes from.”

“Ah, Hops, if you don’t cook, you’re missin’ out on life!”  Vern replied, opening the fridge and taking a look.  He whistled, digging around a little.  “Case in point--no meat.  What I wouldn’t give to get you eating a steak.”

Mr. Grasshopper curled his lip.  “It sounds vile,” he murmured.  “A thick slab of dead flesh?  I’d rather not.”

“Well, anything looks bad if ya put it that way,” Vern said.  He pulled out a bag of spinach greens and a little cheese.  He knew there was a basil plant out in that garden--fresh pesto it was.  “Can’t go turnin’ your nose up at every damn thing, man.  My Ma taught me young: meat’s meat and a man’s gotta eat.”

Mr. Grasshopper watched Vernon step out onto the back porch and hovered a little behind him, standing in the doorway as his dear friend attacked his basil plant outside.  “Your mother seems to have been a woman of considerable character, Vernon.  I cannot say I am surprised.”

“Ain’t no ‘have been’ about it, Hops.  She’s alive and kicking--literally, too.”  Vern glanced up.  “You mind if I ask what yours were like?  I don’t figure they’re still around.”

“Oh, good heavens, no,” Mr. Grasshopper replied.  “Not these thirty years.  They were...quiet.”

“Yeah, I see where ya get that from,” Vern said, rolling his eyes, hands full of basil.  “Ya wanna say a little more?”

The older man raised a brow at this.

“Any particular reason for the interest?”

“No, I guess not, “ Vernon said with a bit of a shrug with his shoulders. “I jus'...I jus' sorta realized, talking about Ma, that you don't really say much about your folks. Shit, I don't think I've ever seen any pictures of family around your place. Makes a guy curious, ya know? Especially since me and Ma are as thick as thieves. Kinda hard imagining a guy at least not being close to their mother.”

Mr. Grasshopper remained silent as he watched the other man finish gather ingredients, stroking his mustache in silent observation. He stepped aside when Vernon made his way back to the door, to let him through.  The silence continued as the chef-of-the-day began taking out chopping boards, knives, and all other things he would need to prepare the meal. The quiet must have gotten to him, as he turned to his older lover with a frown.

“Hops?”

“Hmm? Ah, I’m sorry,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a soft smile, “merely lost in thought. But to answer your question...They were good people. Father as intelligent and handsome as they came, a scientist actually, and mother was the most beautiful woman you would have ever seen. I'm sure you would have agreed, if you saw them. However, as I said, they were quiet. Though, those who knew them, would surely comment on the fact they were the biggest and truest lovers of the arts. The both of them.”

“Explains where you get that from, I suppose.” Vernon said with an affectionate smirk. “And a scientist, huh? What he invent the lightbulb or something?”

Theodore actually found himself give a small laugh at the joke. “Oh, heavens no. Scientist, I said, not inventor. No. His knowledge and field of expertise were a bit more...ah, biological in nature. That is to say, father worked with disease prevention and control.”

“What, he was inventing a cure for aids of somethin'?”

“Gonorrhea, actually.”

This made the short man do a double-take, not expecting his joke to be so close to home. He nearly missed nicking a finger as he tried to turned to Mr. Grasshopper. He was beyond amused.

“You're shittin' me.”

“I am not. Though, to make a correction-- he wasn't just working on it, he was the one who created it.”

“So sex has just always been in the family, huh? Like, an interest that you guys all, heh, mastered?”

Mr. Grasshopper smothered the smile that threatened to peek out.  “Yes, we all of us had a keen interest in a variety of horrible, painful, repulsive diseases,” he replied thoughtfully.  “I think it was more of a philanthropic impulse that drove my father into scientific considerations than anything else.  Aside from the obvious need to discuss the medical ramifications of his work, we never actually discussed the reproductive arts in the home.”

Vern took that to mean that his parents had never known that he was gay as a goose.  “Yeah?  So, what...they were artists, too?”

“No,” Mr. Grasshopper replied.  “And indeed they were quite adamant that they were not.  My father had an enormous moment of luck before I was born, and sold his drug company and its patents very shortly before the Great Depression, and consequently had an impossibly large amount of money when the rest of the world did not.  He bought art with it.”

“No shit?” Vern said.  Art definitely would not have been his first choice--but hell, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was rich as King Solomon when everybody else wasn’t.  

“He was very fond of impressionists,” Mr. Grasshopper continued.  “And my mother adored moderns.  Together, they bought...my goodness, I knew the exact number once...mm, several hundred original paintings, including a vast collection of Renoirs.”

Vern stared at Mr. Grasshopper.  “Several hundred paintings?” he asked, astonished.  “How fucking rich were they?”

“Very, very rich,” Mr. Grasshopper confirmed.  “Embarrassingly so.  They put the paintings up all over our house--which should explain why I am not in the habit of keeping photographs around--and opened it as a museum.  I remember being quite a young lad and being stunned by the number of people constantly moving through our house.  I never completely got used to the constant company, actually,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

Vern just tried to keep up.  “So...holy shit, man, your parents were weird!  Spending all that money on artwork and then making their home a walk-in gallery?”

“I suppose it is rather strange,” Mr. Grasshopper allowed, “but you did ask.  They were...initially supportive of my music interests, but when I grew to maturity I moved here and visited them infrequently, although I am glad to say that I was there to sit with them when they died.”

“So, wait, what DID you do when you moved to the States? I assume somethin' a bit theatrical.”

This seemed to stop Mr. Grasshopper as he went silent once more, letting Vern add the linguini pasta to the pot of boiling water, leaving him with the pesto and spinach to prepare. As he began to combine ingredients into the bowl, he turn to question the man again, not feeling comfortable with the silence.

The olive-toned man beat him to it, however, as he began to talk again.

“Theatrical? Ah, I'm afraid not. No, not until my more recent years. I've always been a teacher, invested in cultivating the gift of music in my pupils, with mixed results. I've been living the quiet sort of life all this time.”

Vernon frowned at his, sunburnt hands reaching and straightening his cap. Ah, so James was right. He might not have known the man in the deepest of intimate details...But he could tell when a guy was lying to him. Thing is...to what purpose? What sort of secrets was the old man hiding?

The redhead began to respond slowly, not exactly wanting to show the fact he could tell he was bull-shitting him, lest the man might close up altogether.

“Really? That's it? Jus'...teaching? What, nobody was interested in you teaching their kids in jolly ol England? Why come all the way out here for that?”

Mr. Grasshopper folded his arms behind his back.  “I merely desired a change of pace,” he said, a little coolly.  “England is very beautiful and I shall think of it as my childhood home until I die, I am sure.  But I did not wish to remain there for my entire life.  I visited America as a young man, in fact this city, and fell--”

The older man’s words screeched to a halt.  “I grew fond of it,” he said after an instant.  “I decided that I would like to live somewhere that wasn't constantly raining or cold.”

Vern lifted an eyebrow, darting a quick, skeptical glanced at him.  “Just a whim, huh?”

“Precisely,” Mr. Grasshopper agreed.  “Ah, but I have been boring you, I’m sure--what can I do to be of use, Vernon?”

No sense in prolonging a conversation like this, Vern decided.  Although Hops had well and truly whetted his appetite for information, he figured that letting him of the hook for now would have good results later.  “You wanna set the table?  We’re not far off from done, here,” Vern replied.

Mr. Grasshopper nodded agreeably and moved into the dining room to prepare the table.  Vern watched him go from under the brim of his hat.

Yeah, he knew where the kid was coming from.  Hops was a damn, dirty liar and Vern was going to find out about what.  

He’d get back to pumping him for info later.  For now, he was interested in having a meal and maybe pumping a little something different out of him.


	3. From Rabbit, With Love

Rabbit fidgeted as he made his way down the street, carrying a plate of treats. He walked carefully, looking down to make sure he didn't trip or end up spilling any of his oatmeal cookies off of their white throne. His stride taking the same exact length each step, without even having to put thought into the act. He frowned again as his nerves started to get the best of him, as he worried about whether his visit would be welcomed.

 The pale haired man stopped as he saw the house he was heading towards, in his line of sight. He bit his lip in worry. After having let his behavior of the past few weeks process in his mind-- his sanity returning to him more and more each day the further they moved away from the blasted competition-- Rabbit couldn't help but feel embarrassed. What a foolish, vainglorious... for lack of a better word, ASS he had been! He had ran around Milton Heights, head stuck in his compost pile, looking like a crazed lunatic and had not been able to see it. And here he had gone and threw insult after insult at those that were not worthy of such actions.

 And then there was Mr. Grasshopper. The blue-eyed man put one foot in front of the other, forcing himself onwards, his guilt and conscience pulling him to the bricked foundation. Mr. Grasshopper had been nothing but diplomatic, despite it all. And of course, after how far Rabbit had gone, he eventually snapped at him. But it was only after his pushing and pushing and pushing did the taller man lash back. Protecting his...friend? Well, standing up for his gardener, in any sense. He was a noble man, he could tell, because even after all he had done to him...Mr. Grasshopper had heard of his plight, and came to him first thing. And even then, Rabbit had STILL yelled and pointed fingers, and STILL the man wanted to help him. To assist him out of a deep depression unlike anything he had felt for the longest of times.

 Rabbit made it to the porch, and took in a deep breath. It took a bit more effort to push down his apprehensions, trying his hardest not to sweat, now that he was finally at the neighbor's door and couldn't exactly turn away. Or...maybe he could? Yes! He could! Still time to run and hide away, avoiding the awkwardness and humility that he was sure to face. Oh, wasn't that an idea!

 The teacher closed his eyes tightly as he used one hand to press the doorbell. The chime making his heart beat faster, as he had to quickly draw back his hand to get a better grip on his plate. The clean and pristine man put on the best smile he could, disregarding his true feelings, as he heard noise and movement from the other side of the door.

 And there, before him, was the olive-toned giant-- looking bewildered at the guest before him.

 “Mr. Rabbit?”

 “Oh, “ Rabbit said, his smile beginning to falter from his nerves, now that he was face to face with his neighbor and savior. “Ah, yes. H-hello there, sir. That is, ah, good evening Mr. Grasshopper. Not busy, I...Oh, um, that is...”

 Seeing the man struggle before him made the white haired man frown. Stroking his mustache, and looking at both the plate and the quivering garden enthusiast in front on his, Theodore Grasshopper was quick to put two and two together. He opened his door wider, his lips curling in the smallest of encouraging smiles.

 “Mr. Rabbit, I do believe you are just in time for tea. Oh, with a little something to go along with it! Biscuits, how thoughtful. Please, my good man, do come in. I do believe the kettle should be whistling any moment now.”

 Rabbit immediately felt some of the tension leak out of his posture, though it was replaced with that cool consciousness of being on one’s best behavior. “Thank you,” he said, and stepped into the foyer and looked around again. The last time he’d been here, he hadn’t paid it the least mind, but now he noticed that Mr. Grasshopper really did have quite a nice home.

 The tall man ushered him into the living room and waved him to a seat. Some classical piece or another was playing on an old-fashioned record player, a machine Rabbit would’ve thought nearly extinct in this day and age. Odd habit, to keep one.

 Mr. Grasshopper disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, asking in a clear voice how Rabbit had been doing, lately.

 “Ah, well, thank you, quite well, ever so much better, actually,” he responded honestly. “And yourself?”

 “I have nothing whatsoever to complain of,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, returning with a small silver tray containing a wealth of tea accoutrement. “I hope you are not sensitive to caffeine?”

 Actually, he was, just a bit--but a cup or two couldn’t hurt him. “Not at all.”

 Mr. Grasshopper passed him a cup and a saucer and settled himself in one of his armchairs with a sigh. “Please,” he said, lifting a biscuit, so different now from the rather frosty reception his muffins had not-unreasonably received. “I am so extremely curious about summer school. Won’t you tell me a bit about it?”

 Rabbit seemed to instantly perk up at this, happy to talk about his students whenever he could. He happily clapped his hands together, as a true smile broke out on his face.

 “Oh! My little sprouts! Yes, everything has been going wonderfully. Though, most of them didn't seem happy to be there, at first-- not that I can blame them, children need sunlight and open air just like the rest of us-- they seem to be warming up to the fact we'll be sharing the next month or so together. “

 “Students never seem to like being cooped up during a nice sunny day, I have noticed. It's certainly hard to get them to focus on anything not relating to running about, let alone their actual work.”

 Rabbit was in the middle of taking his first sip of tea, when he quickly swallowed and set his own cup back down with a bit of a clatter. His excitement at hearing this being evident.

 “You teach?”

 “Yes, though not in the traditional classroom. I tutor in violin and piano lessons. All ages, though I'll admit I mostly receive younger pupils.” Grasshopper took another bite of his biscuit, “ Mm, these are quite delicious. Icing was a nice touch to keep them from being on the dry side, which I find is difficult to do with oats in general.”

 “Ah, thank you! I'm glad to hear it! Again, something I've picked up over the years. I prefer giving my students treats to help them get through the day; however, I refuse to give them rubbish. None of that overly sugary sweet dreck stores try to push on them! Everything either comes from my garden, or I go to the local farmers' market. Makes everything fresher, and I can watch how much sugar goes into them. I want to cheer them up, not having them bouncing off the classroom walls!”

 The conversation meandered a little, touching very briefly upon the role of music and the arts in education and at rather greater, one-sided length on the subject of gardening with vegetables, a discourse to which Mr. Grasshopper listened attentively, if without total comprehension.

 At last, Rabbit seemed to come up for air. “Oh! But excuse me, of course you don’t garden for food--”

 “I admit I am no great hand in the kitchen,” Mr. Grasshopper said, smiling ruefully to think what a beating his limited culinary ability had taken in the past day, “but I have a small herb garden which supplies me with what I desire.”

 “Yes, yes, quite,” Rabbit murmured, sipping his tea. “I truly would’ve thought you would have been very much a gardener yourself, when one considers how extremely beautiful you backyard is.”

 “Thank you,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, “I’m afraid I chose style over substance.” Wary of opening up more conversation about his garden, he switched topics. “Might I ask after the well-being of the charming Mr. Tigger? He appeared to be in excellent spirits when I took my leave of him. I regret to say that I am not more familiar with my neighbors on your block.”

 “‘Charming,’ is he?” Rabbit muttered, rolling his eyes briefly. “He is, as always, a cautionary tale in the making--How Effervescence Can Be Destructive.”

 Mr. Grasshopper could not help a small puff of laughter and began to smooth his mustache. “Oh, surely not...”

 “Oh yes! Very much so!” Rabbit replied, leaning forward a little to communicate his point. “An absolute terror. He means well, I know, but he leaves a path of destruction in his wake!”

 “How unfortunate,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, feeling a slight bubble of amusement trying to escape his throat. He pushed it down with tea. “And yet he seems such an effusive, kind man, if a little gregarious and excitable...”

 The pale skinned man looked away, smiling a little--no matter of the fact he tried not to.

 “Well, I suppose he is that. Even if he is a monster to my poor vegetables. Though, I must confess it gets exhausting awfully fast. I can't seem to escape him no matter how hard I try. Work, home, he's there!”

 “He...Follows you to work?”

 It was Rabbit's turn to laugh. “Well, yes. Though, in all fairness, we do work together. He's the physical education teacher at the school.”

 “Oh goodness, you poor thing,” Mr. Grasshopper smirked into his drink, “ However do you stand it?”

 “Hardly at all, it feels at times.”

“Well,” the older man began, setting down his china and folding his hands on the table, “ I suppose some would say you are very fortunate to have a handsome young man like Mr. Tigger pining after you. “

 Rabbit nearly choked on his tea, as he did his best not to spittle all over the man across from him. After a few coughs, he practically dropped his cup of dark liquid as he tried setting it back down on the table. He stammered horribly, his tension having returned. Theodore almost felt contrite as he saw the gardener struggle.

 “I-I haven't the slightest notion what you're talking about. He's not...He's feeling nothing of the sort! Tigger? Honestly? N-no, not at all! That awful man-child is just obnoxiously bubbly and personal with everyone. You saw that yourself, the other day!”

 “I beg your pardon,” Mr. Grasshopper said feelingly. He rose and acquired a cloth napkin for his guest, resuming his seat as Rabbit attempted to recover himself. “I am so very sorry to have caused you such distress, sir. I only thought...well, I beg your pardon, and we shall say no more about it--”

 “No!” Rabbit insisted suddenly. “You only thought what?”

 Mr. Grasshopper manfully resisted the urge to squirm. “Well, I merely noted that Mr. Tigger is very demonstrative, particularly towards you,” he said, attempting to find the neatest way to put it. “And although he is very friendly and was most...familiar with me, I am certain he was not the smallest bit as personal with me as he was with you.”

 “Just you wait!” Rabbit cried. “Once he gets to know you, he’ll be all over you!”

 Mr. Grasshopper winced internally. Oh, this sort of thing was always so awkward... “You know him better than I, of course,” he replied slowly, “and can know better the likely product of his future behavior. However, I...well, allow me to put it this way: he embraced you at least thrice in public, and doted on you constantly.”

 “Didn’t he hug you?” Rabbit asked, a worried look suddenly appearing on his face.

 “He did not,” Mr. Grasshopper confirmed. “Although he did hug Mr. Trusty.”

 Rabbit slapped his knee. “There you have it!”

 “Briefly,” Mr. Grasshopper pointed out, “while watching you leave. And then he immediately darted after you.”

 Rabbit was bright red. “That’s nonsense!”

 Mr. Grasshopper held up his hands rather helplessly. “He did call you--oh, but it’s surely not my place to say, sir, when you are so very uninterested--I may say even disgusted--yourself...”

 Rabbit abruptly paled.

 Oh dear, Mr. Grasshopper thought. He leaned forward and poured them each a fresh cup of tea, sensing that they would need it. If Mrs. Ladybug were here, she’d splash in a little something from the flask she kept in her purse. He decided not to pursue such an action, no matter how much more smoothly this might go if they had a real drink...sobriety would be a curse, but a necessary evil, in this case.

 “But, ah, we can change the subject if you like. Here, another cup to set yourself right again.”

 “It's, that is...I-well...”

 Mr. Grasshopper pushed the freshly refilled cup over to the man. Rabbit's hands seem to quickly go to it, shaking all the while, as he downed the drink to give him some way to hide from his embarrassment and his rambling mouth.

 The olive-toned man felt pity, as he watched the younger troubled man finish off the steamed liquid without stopping for air. Ah, yes, he had been there at one time. So worked up and in denial about his wants that the tension nearly drove him mad. But he was of a stronger will and mind, it seemed, as the teacher across from him was falling apart at the seems. If not one worry, then another, all the while suppressing what he truly desired-- and most likely needed, if Mr. Grasshopper was to be honest.

 The home owner refilled the cup again, the moment the blond haired man set it down once more.

 “Mr. Rabbit, do you mind me being frank with you? This is not a habit I tend to act on, or rarely have the urge to express; however, I feel this might be of the most importance to your psychological health.”

 “I, that is, I wouldn't think-”

 Mr. Grasshopper put up a hand, silencing him gently. “May I?” he asked simply, quietly, looking at the man with dark, careful eyes.

 Rabbit swallowed and gave him a tremulous nod.

 "I'm going to be more direct with you than I've been to anyone in many years, Mr. Rabbit, so I ask you to pardon my incredible forwardness,” Mr. Grasshopper began. “I do believe I know what you are, and what you like, and I tell you now that I do not care because I share the tendency. Now, if I had to guess, it's been four, maybe five years for you? Since you last expressed your affection... _physically_?”

 Rabbit blushed harder and nodded hesitantly, too embarrassed to say a word. Oh, yes, Mr. Grasshopper remember those being very tense days for him indeed. Rabbit would plateau and hardly notice the frustration in about ten years, but he was sure that right now the younger man would do just about anything for it. Well, there it was, right in front of him…God knew Mr. Grasshopper would never have been able to stand it, if he’d had a handsome young man as obviously in love with him as Rabbit did.

 “W-What does that matter?” Rabbit asked, obviously fidgety.

 Mr. Grasshopper smiled sadly. “It reminds me of a similar experience I endured,” he replied quietly. “Now, if you are fond of this young man, I suggest you do something about him.”

 “Like what?”

 Mr. Grasshopper tightened his lips slightly. “Whatever feels  _natural_ ,” he said, placing firm emphasis on the last word.

 “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Rabbit stammered. “He’s a thoughtless, over-expressive, silly, bubbly fool!”

 Mr. Grasshopper lifted an eyebrow.

 Rabbit squirmed.

 “It is patently obvious to anyone who sees you together that he is in love with you, sir,” Mr. Grasshopper replied in rather dry tones. “But if you do not return the sentiment, you have a moral obligation to inform him. If you feel otherwise, or think you may come to feel otherwise...”

 “What?” Rabbit asked, rather breathlessly. “What should I do?”

 Mr. Grasshopper sighed and sat back in his seat. What were these young people doing with themselves, if they needed it to be spelled out in such extremely vulgar terms? He felt quite embarrassed. He removed his monocle and rubbed his eyes.

 “What I have been trying to tell you, sir, is this: if you want him, take him and have him. Have him very, very hard and very, very soon. And enjoy every last bit of him. Do not play dumb or be ashamed, just have him.”

 Rabbit found his delicate hands fingering the rim of his cup, as he murmured almost inaudibly into the dark pool of hot liquid.

 “I...I just don't know.”

 “What exactly are you unsure about?”

 “Everything.” Rabbit sighed. “All of it. How I feel, what I should do. It's just so...so..so frustrating! I truly do get beyond furious with him. He's...He's everything I despise in my life. Disorderly, chaotic, he has no concept of personal space and constantly gets touchy beyond my comfort zones. He won't leave me alone, when all I want is a quiet afternoon-- unaccompanied-- on a Sunday before I must return to work. He's oblivious, and yet I can't help but think he does it all just to get under my skin!”

 The pale man looked up at the much older and wiser man, desperation in his deep blue eyes.

 “But then he does something...Something that makes me flutter, or, I...I don't know. I don't know what it is. Sometimes he'll do something for a student, something silly and idiotic in every fashion, just to stop the child's peers from bullying them. Or he sometimes says something that just breaks through my disgust for him and...”

 “And,” Mr. Grasshopper began with knowing brown eyes, full of sadness and bittersweet memories, “ And then you have yourself questioning everything you once felt for the man.”

 It wasn't a question.

 “Yes,” Rabbit whispered, looking away. Then he said in a louder voice. “That is, I, uh...I believe that is very close to what I feel.”

 Mr. Grasshopper felt his heart creak and smiled in a way that surely reflected that. “I do believe I understand,” he said quietly.

 Rabbit cleared his throat, a weak smile appearing on his face. “I almost think you do,” he agreed quietly.

 Mr. Grasshopper sat back in his seat. “Well, what can one do? You’ve seen him at his best and you’ve seen him at his worst...perhaps it would be wise to change your perspective. Neither good nor bad, for instance, but something rather neutral, if such a thing is possible.”

 “I doubt it,” Rabbit remarked. “He’s a creature of extremes.”

 “Indeed,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured. “Well, I don’t need to tell you your business, of course, but perhaps you might consider including him in some activity or other. He seems quite strong--perhaps you could ask him to assist you in your garden? I imagine that he merely wants your attention...if you give that a little freely, perhaps some of his more distressing behaviors will fade and you can get yourself onto some firmer ground.”

 “Hmm,” Rabbit murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he added, in rather more doubtful tones. “You know quite a lot about this sort of thing.”

 “Oh yes,” Mr. Grasshopper replied demurely. “I suppose I do.”

 Rabbit sighed. “Isn’t it exhausting, dealing with this sort of thing?”

 “Certainly,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “But consider how empty your life might feel without it. There is at least that.”

 “Saying all that, what of you?”

 The white haired man raised a brow, “Hmm? What's that, now?” He leaned in closer to get more comfortable before inquiring more. “What are you exactly asking of me?”

 “Ah, well, “ Rabbit stammered, “You...You said you have gone through this? But does that mean not any longer? Is there....Someone that you're...You know, like me and...”

 “Are you querying about the possibility of me having a suitor?”

 The teacher blushed, as he looked away. Though, in all honesty, he was glad he didn't have to actually say it. Really, by now he was feeling all sorts of awkward and just wanted the attention off of his own affairs.

 “Ah, yes. Excellent phrasing.”

 Mr. Grasshopper stroke his mustache, also not completely feeling comforted by the tables being turned. He considered himself enough satisfied and didn't need to discuss his bedroom proceedings in order to continue having a healthy mind. However, he supposed, it wasn't exactly sporting to have all the cards in his favor, and then not share a little of his current relationship. If one would even call it that. If it would help the younger man, he could live with sharing a few details...

 “I have no suitors,” he said quietly, “but I do have a friend.”

 Rabbit looked at him, seeming a little surprised. “A friend?”

 “A close friend,” Mr. Grasshopper clarified. Bereft as that statement was of any romantic overtones, it would have to be enough of an answer. He couldn’t say more--nothing else would be truthful.

 Rabbit may or may not have picked up on that, but obviously Mr. Grasshopper must have said something rather rare, if his rather bewildered expression was anything to go by. “I...hope it’s a happy friendship,” he said somewhat awkwardly, clearly uncertain what, if anything, to say, and also a little uninterested.

 Mr. Grasshopper felt himself smiling a thin, somewhat sarcastic little smile. “It is certainly precious to me,” he admitted, far more than he wanted to say.

 Just in time, the grandfather clock chimed six times. Two hours had elapsed since Rabbit had arrived and both men looked up, startled by the reminder of the late hour.

 “Oh!” Rabbit said. “Excuse me, please--but I’m afraid I must get home. I’ve got quite a bit of grading to do. It’s a school night, after all!”

 “I understand completely,” Mr. Grasshopper said, rising with a smile. “Do come again soon, Mr. Rabbit--your views on the place of art in early education are most interesting and I should like to continue the conversation.”

 Rabbit smiled a little, pleased by that sentiment. “Well...certainly, if you insist! Perhaps this time next week?”

 “I shall endeavor to have something a little more unusual than Assam next week,” Mr. Grasshopper said. The gentlemen parted with a handshake and Mr. Grasshopper smiled as he cleared away the tea things and went upstairs to make himself presentable to eat supper at Mrs. Ladybug’s house.

 Ah, youth. Had he ever been so nervous himself? Surely not, he mused, straightening the fresh, dark purple cravat around his neck. He gave the mirror a quick flicker of a debonair smirk, the kind of expression he used to wear frequently as a young man.

 No. He’d certainly never been quite as nervous as poor Mr. Rabbit.


	4. If Looks Could Kill

The community center stood proudly on the well cared for lawn. Even in the presence of a rather gloomy looking afternoon-- the local weatherman had the night before warned of chances of a summer shower-- it radiated cheer and excitement as people entered and exited the building. While Anthropolis had a number of well known recreation centers throughout the city, it seemed as if Milton Height’s beloved structure was the only one to receive the warmest of welcomes daily.

And Mrs. Kluck was one of the fellow residents that took the greatest of pleasures in visiting a few times a week. The large woman happily strutted about as if she owned the place, practically a queen among her subjects. She had a few activities she enjoyed filling up her days, other than activism in her day to day life; however, she had been finding immense joy out of one class in particular. The lessons provided by a certain yoga instructor were quite the show to uphold; and when she wasn't busy watching the man perform his downward dog, she was busy staying after class to watch the skinny thing wiggle and squirm in her presence.

Something she had been savoring at that very moment, as she grinned at the man stammering under her sultry gaze.

One would think that an innocent--or, to be honest, not so innocent--invitation to have a cup of organic green tea and a little chat wouldn’t twist this charming man up so much, but Ms. Kluck had to admit that she rather liked the effect she had on him. Certainly he was rather shy and hesitant when she addressed him in public, acting rather like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, but she knew for a fact that when you got him alone, he was a wonderful conversationalist...among other things.

“Of course, I do understand if you are busy,” she fairly purred, batting her eyelashes a little. “I shouldn’t like to put any undue pressure on you, dear boy--”  
  
“No, no!” Earthworm cried. “I should be happy--very, um, happy--to visit with you, that is, to enjoy your company, and I, um...”  
  
“Maybe seven o’clock?” Ms. Kluck asked, tilting her head invitingly. “We can have our tea and maybe dinner, if that’s convenient. And I’ll make something special for dessert.”  
  
Earthworm turned bright red, but a delighted grin that was nonetheless a little terrified appeared on his face. “Um, yes, that would be excellent! Could I bring anything?”  
  
“Just yourself, my dear boy, you’ll be more than enough of a treat,” she said with a sigh, smiling angelically. “Don’t be late, Mr. Earthworm, or you’ll leave me panting.”  
  
“Oh, I’d never--um--yes--of course!” Earthworm replied, adjusting his glasses and smiling that slightly-scared smile of his, obviously uncertain if it was better to obey her or make her pant.

Ms. Kluck gave him a wink and sashayed out of the room, never looking back, but cheerfully certain of his eyes on her. On her way past the reception desk, she bumped into little James Henry Trotter, who was chatting with the custodian, who appeared to be teaching him how to play poker.

“Ms. Kluck!” James exclaimed, smiling. “Good afternoon!”  
  
“Well, hello there,” she said brightly. “How are you, young man? Have you been keeping up with your photo journalism?”  
  
“Yes,” he replied, “I’ll need to buy a new album soon.”  
  
“Excellent job, lad,” she said, and began to move off.  
  
“Um!” the boy said. “Before you go, could I ask you a question or two?”  
  
“Certainly,” she replied, puffing herself up a little. She cast a quick glance at the janitor, who tipped his hat at her. Well, he was such a carnivore, obviously, and probably had no concept of ecological responsibility, but...she could sort of see why Mr. Grasshopper adored him.

Little James looked up at her with small pleading eyes.

“Well, ah, I was wondering...Do you happen to know anything about Uncle Theodore?”

The blonde haired woman was confused by this line of inquisition.

“As in Mr. Grasshopper? Heavens, boy! Why would you be asking me a silly thing like that? He's YOU'RE uncle, after all. What, don't you know anything about him?”

“Naw, Kluck,” Centipede intervened, saving the poor kid, “that ain't what he means.”

“Oh, no, I know what Uncle Theodore is like nowadays. What I had only meant...Did you know him when he was younger?”

Mrs. Kluck gave a good hearty laugh as she finally understood. Oh, of course. The boy was a bright lad after all, he would never ask something so simple-- part of why she was so bewildered! But as she began to think his actual question over, her brow furrowed in thought. Did she know anything? And why would the child --and supposedly the likes of the scraggly janitor-- be interested in knowing what a younger Theodore Grasshopper was like?

Still a bit suspicious, yet trudging on, she began a little cautiously.

“Well, in all honesty James, Buggy knows him far better than I! Why, they are almost attached at the hip. Two peas in a pod, birds of a feather, and any other idiom I can throw at you to know they are as close as close can be. Why aren't you asking your aunt this? I'll admit, I've only grown to know the man in the past few years of hanging out with dear Rosie!”

James sighed. “Aunt Rosie doesn’t know much more than you,” he said. “No one seems to.”

“Oh my, how odd,” Ms. Kluck said, surprised. “Why, I would’ve thought there were no secrets between those two! But I suppose you never really do know someone, after all.”  
  
“Thought you lived around here for years,” the janitor--Vincent? Virgil?--commented, snapping his cards onto the counter. “Didn’t he ever leave the house?”  
  
“Of course he did,” Ms. Kluck replied. “I remember when he was still quite dark-haired! Handsome sort of man, if you like the type, very William Powell sort.” She adjusted her headscarf. “Why are you boys so interested?”  
  
“I’m doing my living history project,” James said.   
  
“‘m helpin’,” the janitor--Victor? Vladimir?--added. Ms. Kluck raised her eyebrow. How very suspicious!  
  
“And you’re asking other people?” she inquired.

“He only tells me that he’s been a violin teacher for years,” James replied. “I know that’s part of it, but he can’t have been a music tutor all his life! He knows so many things!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Ms. Kluck said, admittedly rather curious herself, now that she realized how little she knew about one of her friends. But then, what was the custodian’s excuse? Surely he knew everything he needed to know about the old gentleman. “Well, I will say that I’m sure he cut quite a figure when he was younger--and that he probably cut more than a few rugs, too!”  
  
James looked surprised. “Really?”  
  
“Oh yes, my boy. Haven’t you ever seen him dancing with your aunt?” Ms. Kluck smiled. “Why, there aren’t many men who can move that well in their thirties, let alone at his age.”  
  
“No kiddin’?” the janitor--Verdi? Vaughn?--asked, a little smirk appearing on his mouth. “Hops, dancin’?”  
  
Presumably this young rapscallion had only ever seen Mr. Grasshopper performing the horizontal tango. Well, let this be educational to him! “Dancing, indeed! And quite good at it, from what I’ve seen. He must’ve been a devil on the dancefloor in the salad days.”

“Huh, you don't say,” The man seemed intrigued by this, no doubt getting ideas. As he very well should! Not that it was any of her business, after all. “Dancin', now that's an angle.”

James looked up at the janitor for a moment, before returning to Mrs. Kluck with eagerness.

“Oh! That's fascinating! Is there anything else you might know?”

“Sorry sonny, “ the woman said, shaking her head, “That's about all I know. But all the luck to the two of you digging for dirt on the ol' green grasshopper! In fact, I'll be interested in what you can find, myself!”

The child sighed sadly; however, he quickly turned that frown upside down as he thanked his aunt's friend for all the help she could provide. She told then both to keep their chin up, patting the boy on the head and giving the janitor—Valentino? Valacookoomonga? Oh, to the heck with names!-- a quick nod before saying goodbye and making her way home. She had a date with a certain instructor, after all!

Mrs. Kluck, however, heard the two converse as she walked towards the center's exit.

“What now, Mr. Centipede?”

“We ain't down for the count yet! That dancing angle just might be the thing to go on. I think tonight might require me doin' a little more pumpin', if ya catch my drift.”

Mrs. Kluck chuckled to herself as she had the glass door close behind her-- she could only imagine.

* * *

 

Vern’s first plan had been to drag Hops out dancing, but upon further consideration, he realized he didn’t even know where anybody went to go dancing any more. Although the image of tall, strait-laced Hops making that disapproving expression and standing awkwardly in a dark, loud club made him chuckle, he knew he’d have to go with him and the idea made Vern’s skin crawl. 

Dinner and a show, though. That he could do.  
  
Especially if they got a little handsy in the theater. Vern hadn’t made out with anybody in the back row since he was a kid, but he was reasonably confident that he could talk Hops into it.  
  
Vern wasn’t exactly in the habit of wining and dining anyone, moreover, so he took a little time to do some research. By the time Sunday rolled around, he had a reservation for six and tickets to an evening show at one of those old cinemas in town that only showed Bogart and Cagney flicks. Next time he saw Tenebre, he thought, he’d ask her if there were any dance halls around her. She’d be the one to know.  
  
He did his bit in the garden that afternoon, catching Hops looking at him every now and then and sometimes just enjoying the sound of the old man playing his heart out in the living room. He felt an oddly giddy thrill of anticipation as he considered springing dinner on Hops--hoping all the while that the old man didn’t have plans.  
  
Four o’clock snuck up on him and Vern hopped up onto the back porch, taking his boots off after a moment’s thought. He was filthy, and not in the good way, so he figured he’d make use of Hops’ shower again.  
  
Maybe this time he could talk the old man into joining him.

Smiling the smile he knew made Hops weak-kneed, he ambled into the living room. “I’m kidnapping you,” he said.

Mr. Grasshopper looked up from the book in his lap, faint traces of amusement in his expression. “I’ve given express orders not to negotiate with kidnappers,” he replied. “You shall have to shoot me.”

“Nope,” Vern replied. “Ain’t gonna shoot you, but I’m gonna carry you off. We’re going out to dinner.”  


Mr. Grasshopper blinked, and something like astonishment passed over his face. “Are we, indeed?” he asked.  
  
“Yup. So cancel your plans, you’re getting wined and dined with yours truly,” Vern said, sticking his hands in his pockets with a grin.  
  
Mr. Grasshopper looked him up and down, lifting an eyebrow. “Not in your current condition, I hope,” he murmured.  
  
“No, ‘course not,” Vern said. “But if you wanna come help me do something about it...” he offered, waggling his eyebrows.

Mr. Grasshopper gave a sultry smirk, all the while he did the best to bury any blushes that threatened to stain his face. “I do believe, Mr. Centipede, that you are trying to seduce me.”

“Is it workin'?”

“Very much so, “ the older man admitted, “However I must decline your shower invitation. That is, if you truly desire me to cancel previous plans to go out with you this evening. I will need to do some preparations.”

Vern didn't know what to think about that; and while mildly disappointed that the man had turned down his shared shower idea yet again, he smiled back as his lover agreed to be his date for the evening. All right, he could deal with that. Having the white haired fox turn him down was his biggest worry, anyway, so the gardener won out in the end.

“Mkay, deal then. You get your sweet ass ready to be swept off your feet,” Vern started walking back towards the door, having left a duffel bag with a change of clothes there. As he returned, passing by the home owner with a wink as he made his way to the stairs. “But I hope you know I ain't givin' up on getting ya in the water with me, eventually. “

“It's good to have goals, “ Theodore joked, as he followed him up the stairs. They soon parted ways as one went to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. Once the door closed behind the older man, he felt himself begin to grow a bit faint as he slouched against the door. A skilled olive hand made its way to his chest, as Mr. Grasshopper felt his heart pound. My word, what was Vernon up to?

“It's surely nothing, “ he mumbled to himself, trying his best to will his heart to cease with its irregular beating and flutters. “The man is impulsive by nature, a mere fancy. This means nothing more than that. I should just take pleasure in the experience while I can.”

While his reassurance did work its magic on his body- making it so the home owner could steady himself without the use of his door-- it didn't, however, cease the bliss he felt as he went to his closet to see what he had to wear. Though he did not know where exactly his paramour had decided to take him, no doubt nothing that Mr. Grasshopper was used to, he decided he was going to wear a more appropriate suit. No lounging about clothes-- not when he was going out with an attractive creature like his dear Vernon!

Perhaps--just perhaps--it would be wise to dispense with his tail coat. He knew he vastly preferred the style to just about anything else, but he knew that not many other men wore them outside of white-tie occasions. And while that was all well and good when going out with Mrs. Ladybug, who erred on the side of formality, he knew that with Vernon, it would be rude to be so overdressed in public.

He unhooked his eyeglass chain from the breast pocket, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up with a quick, loving pass of his fingertips over the lapel. He retrieved a jacket of a more modern, casual cut and looked at himself critically in his mirror. Well. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly and wear something--he took a deep breath--casual.   


He stripped out of his waistcoat and removed his cufflinks before taking out an admittedly attractive dark red turtleneck that Mrs. Ladybug had given him as a Christmas gift some years ago, in a well-intentioned but rather unsuccessful impulse. Now, at last, it might finally see the light of day, he reflected, pulling it on. He changed into dark trousers and slipped into his modern coat, looking in the mirror with a slight grimace. He looked so...so very unlike himself. He ought to at least wear a tie. These were practically pajamas!   
  
He fidgeted a little with his monocle, wondering if his spectacles weren’t better suited to this suit of clothes before deciding that there was no reason to complete obscure his identity. He pushed a handkerchief into the jacket pocket and clipped on his monocle chain, finding a flutter of nervousness welling up in his throat.  
  
He only hoped that Vernon appreciated the lengths he was willing to go for him.

Meanwhile, Vern was enjoying the shower enormously, although he was still sure it would be improved by a little company. He grinned lasciviously at the thought of his lover joining him and the kind of fun he could have with a wet and willing Hops.

‘Settle down,’ he told himself, using some of Hops’ fancy soap. ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough.’  
  
Honestly, he was kind of excited. He wasn’t exactly the type to date, so it had been years since he’d last played the field. Not that he was really playing now, sure--he was out to get Hops to spill some more beans. On a mission for the kid, after all. That image of himself as a spy reappeared and he snickered. Guess this made him the honeypot!  
  
Even then, it would be fun to take the old man out and see what he was like when you got him away from this place.   
  
And Vern was determined to knock him off his feet. He’d seen a little of the stuff Hops put in his hair on the counter and figured that Hops wouldn’t mind if he borrowed a little, himself. Turning off the water, Vern whistled a little as he rubbed one of the towels all over himself, wiping the fog off of the mirror and grinning at the handsome bastard he saw looking back at him.  
  
“He ain’t gonna know what hit him,” Vern smirked, pulling out the clothes he’d brought along.

A few moments later, Mr. Grasshopper heard a knock at his bedroom door. He was amused by the fact his companion was being so courteous-- usually the younger man would walk about as if he owned the place. With a twitch of his lip, a small smile hidden under his white mustache, Theodore went to let in his date of the evening.

Mr. Grasshopper felt the witty comments he had planned stolen from him, as well as his very breath, as he gazed upon the man before him. Vernon, with hair slicked backed, was actually dressed for the evening. Though in trousers more common of the sunburnt individual -- suspenders and all-- Vern took it upon himself to get rid of his usual top for one very similar to the one he had borrowed from Grasshopper that rainy day dinner not too long ago. While not a yellow, it was a light cream color in the same collared fashion. And underneath the collar was a neatly done deep rich pear hued bow tie. Mr. Grasshopper's brown eyes trailed down, and he noticed the sleeves neatly rolled up, showing his glorious freckled arms.

While the home owner remained silent, taking in the vision before him, Vernon -- too– looked his lover up and down. The redhead gave one of his dirty grins, one that Theodore had come to know as meaning he could at any moment push the older man against the wall, and just have his way with him. Theodore felt the threat of growing weak again, a small portion of him pondering if this could be a side effect of old age rather than amorous inclinations. Vern was the first to speak.

“Hubba hubba, didn't even know you had it in ya.”

This seemed to only make his heart grow warmer, as Mr. Grasshopper tried to find his voice. Breathless words fell from his lips, feeling soft and feathery.

“....You look...”

“Hot? Sexy? Fuckable?”

The older man ran long fingers through his soft white hair, as he tried to collect himself. The Englishman swallowed down his amative sufferings, as he spoke again.

“You look like a ruffian.”

Vern barked out a laugh, obviously surprised. “Bullshit! I classed it up! I look great!”

“I never said you didn’t look good,” Mr. Grasshopper added hastily, tugging reflexively on the hem of his jacket. “You look very handsome. Just...rugged, as well.”

“Rugged, huh?” Vern asked, leaning against the door jamb. “‘Zat mean you like it?”

“Very much,” Mr. Grasshopper said, in a tone slung much too low and deep.

Vern grinned rather giddily. “C’mon,” he said, “we gotta go. If I don’t get you outta this bedroom pretty soon, we’ll never make it to the door.”

Mr. Grasshopper didn’t entirely think that was a problem at all, but he was willing to go along. Might as well enjoy this as long as it lasted. “Very well,” he agreed. “But before we do...”

He took advantage of this incredibly unique situation in which he was without neckwear and Vernon was the one with a tie, hooking his fingers around his lover’s bow tie, leaning down as he pulled the man close and placed a warm kiss to his lips. Careful not to rearrange that carefully-done red hair, Mr. Grasshopper placed his free hand on the nape of Vernon’s neck and savored the warm press of their lips, daring to lightly lick against his lips, sighing softly as he tasted his own toothpaste on his mouth.

Vern quickly grabbed Hops in response, showing no such consideration for his partner’s precise grooming and running his fingers through the white hair, recklessly messing him up. Hops was assertive as hell when he wanted to be, and Vern was happy enough to hang on and let him do what he wanted. Damn, they needed to cut it out soon, or Vern wasn’t going to be able to turn this down!

Mr. Grasshopper left him with another slow brush and a soft nip, straightening up again. “I think I see why you like doing that,” he murmured, hands already undoing Vern’s hard-won mussing. “Shall we?”

“After you,” Vern replied, straightening his tie and slapping Hops on the ass as he passed. The old man gave him a sharp look that didn’t, in Vern’s opinion, seem as admonishing as it was coy.

“Behave yourself.”

“I ain’t makin’ no promises,” Vern said, trotting down the steps after Hops.

* * *

 

  
Vern didn’t know much about Asian food, but he knew that there were a lot of vegetarians in that general region. And that they knew their way around a barbeque.

It was the best of both worlds!

The restaurant was a little dim, but in a ritzy, romantic kinda way, the kind that came with high ceilings and little candlelit tables. Maybe it was a little too much, but Vern had always been a believer in “go big or go home.”

Hops sat across from him, back ramrod straight, quietly perusing the menu. Vern already knew what he wanted--meat, a lot of it, preferably hot and spicy, and one of those weird Asian mixed drinks--but he guessed there was a little more thought that had to be put into ordering a plate of vegetables. The waiter came, took their orders, and went, leaving them alone.

Vern couldn’t get over how good Hops looked. He thought he’d be the one pulling out the stops tonight, all trussed up in a tie and a good shirt as he was, but Hops totally blew him out of the water. He was pretty sure some of the older women in the restaurant had spotted him the second they’d stepped in and were even now keeping an eye on him. Red just looked so good on him, brought out the warmth in his eyes, which was a stupid thing to notice, but there you go...it was a damn good thing he’d only seen him wear it now, for the first time. If Hops’d worn a necktie that color, nothing on earth would’ve been able to stop Vern from wanting to see that color wrapped good and tight around his lover’s wrists.

Hops was looking at him expectantly.

“Uh!” Vern said, startled. “Sorry--what?”

Hops did that funny little thing where he kind of twitched his mustache instead of smiling. All right, two goals for the night--first, pump Hops for info, second, get Hops to actually laugh like a real person. “I wanted to know what inspired you to pick this place, Vernon. It is very atmospheric.”

“Would ya believe me if I told you I wanted to see ya in a different light?”

While said as a joke, Vern realized there was some truth to it. The more he had been trying to find out about his lover, the more mind-blown he had become as he saw just how much he didn't think about Hops. Not that he was using and abusing the man-- he just couldn't help but see the world through pleasure and self centered tented lenses. How the man made him feel hot and bothered, how the man looked good enough to eat, how he wanted those hands to touch him...How he took away a boredom he felt when work wasn't enough to keep him occupied.

And though James was the greatest excuse, yet again it was his selfishness that took over his world and plans as he had set off to find out who this man was. It was his own need that pushed him on as he had to satisfy his own curiosity. For a flicker of a moment he wondered why it would even matter to him at all.

Vernon didn't get to explore these thoughts, however, as the Englishman across from him replied.

“If you had wanted a different lightening, Vernon, you needn't go to such a great expense. All you would have needed to do was dim the bulbs.”

“You jokin'...Ain't never gonna get used to that.”

“No? My goodness. I shall have to attempt to be more humorous, more often.”

“No offense, Hops, but I think we got different ideas of what ‘funny’ means...”

“Do you think so?” Hops asked thoughtfully, taking a sip of water. “I confess this is an enormous blow to my ego,” he said, smiling in a way that told Vern wasn’t anything of the kind. “I would have attempted to be more entertaining, had I but known.”

Vern was pretty sure this was just the opening he needed. “Well, now, that ain’t the same thing. You’re always entertaining, Hops...guess that’s your theatrical bent, huh?”

Hops stroked his mustache, which Vern was fairly sure was just a cover for him to hide a smile. “I suppose one could say that.”

“How’d you get into theater, anyway?” Vern asked. “I figured you’d be off writing books or painting something, considerin’ where you come from.”

Hops visibly hesitated, and Vern almost wanted to reach across the table and shake him. There was something there, he knew it! Something that he couldn’t quite get at, that Hops wasn’t sharing for whatever--likely bullshit--reason of his own. He wanted to know. He wanted to know this man, twist out whatever mystery there was that he kept behind those deep, thinking eyes of his. He talked so damn much and he never said anything and Vern wanted to know why.

“I suppose it makes for an embarrassing confession,” Hops replied. Vern perked up. “But music has always been a...nearly physical pleasure for me, as well as a cerebral one. I came to it very young, as many do, and fell in love very quickly and very deeply. A truly brilliant sonata stimulates the same part of me that physical contact does.”

“...so you’re saying it gets you hot and bothered?” Vern asked, a sleazy smile spreading across his lips. Hops was kinkier than he thought!

The old man cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “Some can accomplish that, yes,” he confirmed. “But not many. Actually, it generally inspires a feeling of contentment, security, not unlike an embrace...I have found that it can even act as a shadow, however pale, of love,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn’t matter at all.

Vern didn’t need to read deep into that. Little kid with artsy parents and a house full of strangers? And music was what did it for him? Twenty years of not getting taken to bed, sure, but also not having anyone even touch you?

No wonder he played requiems when he couldn’t play his own instruments. Vern didn’t do well alone, himself--he had to have contact, had to touch, had to feel someone else. Given the way Hops was all over him in bed, all hands and fingers and nuzzling, and the way he begged to be touched...he wasn’t all that different. Just kept it all locked away.

Vern felt like a knucklehead. He wasn’t going to miss that huge clue again.

“Music was an obvious choice,” Mr. Grasshopper continued, even while Vern was processing that little tragedy, “and the world of theatre and drama appeals to my personality, as I am quite certain you have guessed.”

“Uh, yeah,” Vern said, cracking a slight smile. “Y’are a little dramatic, aren’t ya?”

“It is the prerogative of the creative to be a bit outlandish,” Hops replied with a thin smile. “What of yourself, Vernon?” he asked, putting that oh, so delicious little tilt on his name. “Have you ever been...theatrically minded?”

“Ah, heh, I can't say I ever have been. Naw, that wasn't really my thing. Never had much of a singin' voice, or an ear for music.” He paused, as he smirked. “No, I ain't one of those types. I've always been more of a physical kinda guy.”

“For whatever reason, I am not at all surprised.”

“Aw, Hops, you're making fun of me!” Vernon laughed. “I'm actually bein' serious here. As a kid I mostly kept busy runnin' around, nobody was gonna slow me down. And then as I got older, I found out I liked doin' things with my hands. Some folks are jus' more artsy and eggheads, and then there are folks like me who gotta keep busy.”

Mr. Grasshopper folded his hands on the table, as he had listened to the shorter man talk about himself. While on a whole he saw where the man was coming from, however, he did have one point to voice.

“I must beg to differ, I find you can be quite artistic when you allow yourself to be. That is, if my garden is any indication.”

“Woah now, I said I wasn't artsy-- nowhere did I say I didn't have tastes!”

“Ah, tastes,” Hops said with a little bit of a twinkle in his eye. “Well, that is all the difference, I’m sure...”

Vern crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I think I’m gonna start a count,” he said, smirking, “and keep track of how many times you get mouthy with me.”

“An engaging endeavor,” Hops replied, leaning a little forward himself. “And to what end do you keep this list?”

“That’s three, already,” Vern said. “I’m going to have to come up with some way to get you back for that smart mouth of yours.”

The tops Mr. Grasshopper’s cheekbones darkened very appealingly in the low light of the restaurant. “I hope you shall not be draconian in your punishments,” he said simply.

“Oh,” Vern promised. “They’re going to make you scream.”

Hops dropped his head and cleared his throat, causing Vern to sit back and grin a little. Damn! There wasn’t anything like flustering the old man. What the hell was it about the way he got shy that got Vern all riled up?

“In any event,” Hops said hurriedly. “I have noted this tendency of yours to keep busy and I ought to mention that I find it extremely admirable.”

“Hops,” Vern grinned. “That’s practically a Valentine’s card, coming from you. You sweet on me?”

Mr. Grasshopper lifted an eyebrow, although he kept his eyes on his water glass as he lifted it to his mouth. “You have such a healthy self-esteem, Mr. Centipede,” he murmured.

Vern snickered. “Yeah, yeah, go on and get all prim on me. But yeah. I’m a mover and a shaker. What can I say? I like being useful. Besides, I figure some men are men a’words and some are men a’action.”

“True enough.”

“Always figured you for a man a’words, personally.”

Mr. Grasshopper gave him a slightly supercilious look--the kind that Vern read loud and clear as ‘you certainly don’t know the half of it.’ But that was the point, wasn’t it? He wanted to know the half of it!

“I have been known to move quickly when the situation called for it,” he said.

Vern lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asked, giving the old man his best double-oh-seven, trust-me-I’m-handsome smile. “Like how? I’ve seen you dance around guys like Rabbit, but that was all talk, Hops.”

Mr. Grasshopper became silent once more, as his deep chocolate eyes clouded with inner contemplations. Damn. Vern couldn't help but get a bit frustrated again, Hops was really clamping down on this. Come on, old man, what's your problem? What aren't you telling? WHY aren't you telling? Irritation began to go away as speedy as it came, as the younger man could see his companion coming back to him and the outer world. Mr. Grasshopper opened his mouth, his pretty little olive lips ready to – Vernon had the highest of hopes of-- spill the beans.

However, both were jolted as a voice came out of nowhere next to the both of them.

“Hobak jeon and bulgogi, sirs?”

This seemed to snap the gentleman out of his mood, going back to his default conventional settings. He smiled up at the young Asian waiter, indicating whose was who. The waiter bowed, handing them over with grace, all the while the redhead couldn't help but glare. Shit, man, that was the worst timing! He was going to say something! God dammit!

Mr. Grasshopper looked over at him, concerned.

“Something wrong, Vernon?”

“Oh, er, naw.” The younger man tried to save face, going back to his award-winning grin. “Guess I'm jus' starvin' more than I thought. 'bout time the food came!”

This seemed to please the Englishman's unease, as his mustache twitched again in fondness. He knew full well how his gardener's moods could easily be affected by just how empty Vern's stomach was. As energetic as he was, plus his general affinity towards a good meal, it was no surprise at all.

“Then please, don't let me keep you from your appetite.”

 Vern sighed and picked up his fork, consoling himself with a huge bite of barbequed meat. He watched as Hops performed the few graceful motions of his fingers necessary to catch up his chopsticks and wield them deftly.

“Show off,” Vernon muttered around his mouthful. Mr. Grasshopper gave him that smirking, ironic holier-than-thou look that Vern liked nothing more than to wipe off his face.  
  
“Unmannered Philistine,” the old man replied smilingly, taking a bite of his dinner.  
  
Vern held up his fingers. “That’s four,” he said. “Don’t think this count ain’t still going!”  
  
“You shall run out of fingers quite soon,” Mr. Grasshopper observed. “You’ll have to carry around a scorepad.”  
  
“Five.”  
  
“Oh, that was hardly mouthy, Vernon--”  
  
“Penalty point for tellin’ the ref how to do his job.”  
  
“Am I not permitted even to know what retribution you shall exact?” Hops asked, pressing his napkin against his lips.  
  
Vern took another nonchalant bite of his meal and carelessly stretched his legs out under the table, coincidentally pressing his left ankle against Hops’ leg. “Ain’t table talk,” he said with a wink, liking the way Hops couldn’t entirely look indifferent.


	5. License to Thrill

He had to pretend to have left his wallet to get to pay for dinner. Hops, true to form, ate a very small meal but insisted on splitting the check in half. Vern had let him do it but managed to dart back in and get them to put it all on his card--like hell was he making his date pay for him. It was probably lucky there wasn’t any cash involved; he wouldn’t have thought the old man even had a credit card, much less used one.  
  
Go fig.  


Hops gave him a close look when he emerged. “That took quite a while,” he said, voice heavy with suspicion.  
  
“What, you think I was runnin’ out on you?” Vern asked, pulling a cigar out of his shirt pocket and lighting it. “Nah, sweetheart, what kinda dick move would that be?”  
  
Mr. Grasshopper stiffened suddenly. Vern cut him a sideways glance and grinned, waving his match out and puffing a little on his cigar. “I’m starting to think you do that when you like somethin’,” Vern said, gesturing to Hops’ general posture. “Either ya do that or ya melt.”  
  
“Vernon,” Mr. Grasshopper said in a low, would-be admonishing tone.  
  
“Relax, sweetheart, I won’t tell nobody,” Vern said. He glanced at his watch. “C’mon. Time’s a-wasting.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
Vern realized suddenly that he hadn’t mentioned the movie to Hops. Perfect! A little extra surprise to keep the man off center. “I’m gonna keep you kidnapped for a little while longer,” Vern said, putting his hand on the small of Hops’ back and beginning to steer him towards the theater district. “C’mon. Let’s have us some fun.”

Mr. Grasshopper allowed himself to be lead around, silent as he let his lover do most of the talking. It was interesting how Vern once commented about he,Theodore, being able to go on for hours saying a lot to say nothing- something he disagreed with immensely. Yet here the man was going on filling the void with talk after talk, pointing out random things they walked by. It didn't take long, however, before Vernon interrupted his observations and thoughts, as he indicated to them arriving at their destination. Grant Cinema was a quaint and old looking theater. A brick building, with a white paint trim that was slightly chipping, it radiated with love and care-- by the old owner who was patiently waiting in his ticket box for customers to buy for the nine o'clock showing. Mr. Grasshopper looked up at the lit up billboard.

“' _Yankee Doodle Dandy_ '?” The old man was flat out grinning, beyond amused. The Englishman stroke his mustache to try and hide it. “Vernon, I didn't really think this was your kind of entertainment. I would have expected ' _Du Rififi Chez les Hommes_ ', a gangster film, before I considered you choosing to take us to see something so...Theatrical.”

“Well, now, what can I say? Maybe you've just been rubbin' me in all the right ways.” A flash of that handsome smile broke through. “And who knows? Maybe I'm plannin' on returning the favor.”

That smirk- one that spoke of sinful pleasures to come...It was enough to send Mr. Grasshopper's senses ablaze. He coughed into his hand, before tucking it behind his back to help straighten his posture.

“One would say that need has been accommodated a few times. However, I was taught not to turn down such a tremendous opportunity and gift when one presents itself before me.”

“Well, ain’t you polite?” Vern asked, bobbing his eyebrows. “Gonna have to do something about that.”

Mr. Grasshopper was a little surprised. “Oh? Is there a problem with politeness?”

“Yeah,” Vern replied. “If you’re bein’ polite, I ain’t got you worked up enough.”

Mr. Grasshopper wasn’t sure whether it was the better part of dignity to be outraged by Vernon’s public indecency or simply shocked, but he was sure that it was incredibly wrong of him to combine either reaction with a perverse and rather squirmy sense of enjoyment. “Behave yourself,” he said in an undertone, stepping under the awning of the theater.

Vern bounced after and ahead of him, slapping two tickets down on the counter before Hops had the chance to pull out his wallet. “We still in time for the show?” he asked the geezer behind the counter.

“Just squeezing in,” the owner said. “Lights go down in two--better get to your seats, fast.”

“All right, we’re goin’,” Vern said, grabbing Hops by the arm and pulling him into the theater.

Vern didn’t have to drag him along far. The old man took big steps out of necessity and the massive single-room theater didn’t take more than a few seconds to enter. Vern, dropping his lover’s hand, beckoned him with a quick gesture of his fingers and a little cluck of his tongue, nodding his head up. “Let’s sit in the balcony.”

“It’s quite empty, Vernon,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, looking around. “If you would like to sit nearer, I can’t imagine there would be any--”

“Trust me, Hops. I like the balcony.”

Hops didn’t quite shrug as much as he sort of suggested that the air itself shrugged. “Very well,” he replied, following Vernon up the flight of stairs and settling into one of the red velvet seats on the balcony, overlooking the entire theater. “What a beautiful building,” he commented in a quiet tone, looking up at the painted ceiling and the sconces on the wall.

Vern, cheerful enough to think of what was to come, both physically and, to some extent, cinematically, simply said and smiled to himself. “Yeah. Ain’t bad.”

“I find myself really admiring the worn feel, obvious that it has seen better and more livelier days; yet, the place is in such remarkable condition. It almost makes one recollect about one's youth, and how the cinema was still a new sort of wonder.”

That sounded like an opening if Vernon ever heard one.

“Oh yeah? What, you old enough to be there when they started doin' silent movies, o' somethin'?”

“Oh my, heavens no!” Mr. Grasshopper genuinely laughed. “No, around the time I was born films like ' _Colonel Blimp_ _'_ and _'Canterbury Tale_ _'_ were out and hitting the theatres. Black and white, yes, but I assure you we had sound.”

Vern smirked triumphantly; happy he finally broke through that wall of his companion. See, Hops, laughing wasn't so bad. Let it out! Be free! The redhead found himself leaning to the side, so he could comfortably be closer to his older lover. With arm bent and holding him up in the armrest, the younger man pushed on.

“Folks ever treat ya, when you were a kid?”

“Ah, well, not to the cinema, no. My mother and father were a bit on the pretentious side, and did not see the fruits of them. They, however, did take me on many outings to see plays, operas, orchestras, and the like.” The olive-toned man seemed to show a lot of fondness over the recollections. “ But no, I did not get to partake in the pleasure of films, or anything else for that matter, until I had already moved to the states.”

Vernon was just about to ask 'things like what?”, when the lights suddenly dimmed, indicating that the movie was just about to start. Damn! Shit and fucking hell! The sunburnt man internally cursed at whatever divine being was cock-blocking his information gathering. Some spy HE was turning out to be! Vern sighed as he leaned back into his seat, as the opening black and white credits began to roll. Well, he mused, it wasn't all bad he supposed. Interrogations could wait, he had some hanky panky theater shenanigans to set into motion....

He figured that for appearance’s sake--and to lull Hops into a false sense of security--it would be only right to try and watch the first fifteen minutes of the movie. Imagine his surprise, about five minutes in, when Hops’ left knee nudged his own as the old man shifted in his seat.

“Apologies,” Hops whispered, shifting away. Vern grabbed his knee and budged it over, leaning it against his own leg again and keeping his hand on it, thumb rubbing over the top of the knee cap.

“Relax,” Vern replied. That was a step in the right direction! Sure as hell made his life easier.

He kept his hand there, occasionally rubbing, for another couple of minutes, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hops was starting to relax a little, although Vern could see out of the corner of his eye how the fingers of his right hand tapped against the armrest, obviously playing along with the music of the film. Vern smirked to himself--damn, that was almost cute--and drummed his fingers lightly against Hops’ knee, smirk broadening as he felt Hops twitch a little under the attention.

Oh, he liked that, did he?

Vern let his hand run a little ways up the length of Hops’ leg, sliding up to his mid-thigh. The old man’s left hand fluttered a little as he put it on top of Vern’s, not so much stopping him as covering his hand, thumb running lightly against the backs of his knuckles. Hops shifted a little and Vern grinned.

He slid his hand up and down, taking Hops’ unprotesting fingers with him until he scratched gently, nails dragging heavily over the fabric of his lover’s pants. Hops jumped as if a bolt of electricity had passed through him, that shaky hand grabbing Vern’s upper arm.

“Vernon!” Hops breathed, his leg a little twitchy under Vern’s hand as he turned to look at him. “What--”

Vern didn’t reply, simply sliding his hand further up Hops’ leg, closer to his lap. He pushed the armrest up, leaning across the gap and scratching again as he whispered in Hops’ ear.

“Keep it down, sweetheart, or the ushers’ll throw us out,” he whispered, kissing the little patch of dark skin behind Hops’ ear and next to the top of his jaw. He gently nipped his ear, unable to keep from grinning as Hops shuddered.

“Vernon, we are...We are in public!” Though said with urgency, Mr. Grasshopper made sure to keep his voice at a whisper. Least they be caught before the older man could settle down his date.

“I know, “ the redhead's breath was warm next to the gentleman's ear, causing Theodore to shudder in enjoyment. “Kinky, ain't it?”

This he could not disagree with, as his inflamed senses were telling him, the Englishman's body craving for the touch; however, he was one for decency. Anyone could be watching! Why, Mr. Grasshopper knew he would have felt beyond uncomfortable if he was to turn around and see a couple getting indecent while he was trying to enjoy his outing. Though, Theodore mused, that did explain why his lover had insisted on a secluded balcony for this viewing.

Damn him, he had been planning this!

However, especially as the sunburnt man began to shift so that he was straddling (as much as one could with the room provided) onto the gentleman's lap...Theodore found himself growing all the more excited as his flame hungrily leaned in and stole his lips in that aggressive and smug way that the musician had grown to love. As coarse hands made their way towards white hair, pulling Mr. Grasshopper deeper into the kiss, the gentleman felt his own sense of modesty slip away. Off to wherever it was inclined to go, when Vernon started putting his hands on him.

The gardener pulled away, stealing away Theodore's breath and feeding his lust-- like the very incubus that he was. Moving his hands downward, making sure the rough digits touched any of the exposed olive skin he could find, Vernon went from the older man's head to one hand cupping the neck and the other gripping a slender hip. Mr. Grasshopper could not help but be reminded of a musician holding a cello, which only seemed to make himself blush all the more. And then those sun-baked lips-- puckered flesh that spoke of summer and warmth and a life spent out in the sun-- went to sucking and nipping on the gentleman's tilted neck.

Vern loved the way Hops just melted underneath him, all warm skin and taut muscles, a little unsure but oh, so willing. He could hear and feel the rattle of his lover’s breath moving through his throat and kissed the soft skin just under his jaw, chuckling as Hops’ shoulder shifted reflexively, a half-ticklish reaction. He tugged the red fabric of the turtleneck down, pressing rough, nibbling kisses to his neck and toying with the idea of giving him a few hickies--much as he liked the color on Hops, he’d so much rather have that long, sensitive neck bare and begging for his attention.

He slipped the hand on Hops’ hip up under the turtleneck and undershirt, fingers splaying across the warm, soft skin of the man’s abdomen. Another ticklish little twitch, as Vern’s hand slid across sensitive flesh. One long hand began petting Vern’s hair encouragingly, the other curling its fingers against his back, simply holding on.

Vern grinned, coming back up for another kiss, pushing Hops deeper into his seat and rocking his hips down to connect heavily with the old man’s. Lips pressed and slid together, interlocking and parting as Vern ground against Hops’ hips, getting a startled jerk of a motion out of his lover. The sudden motion came with a thoroughly delicious gasp and Vern took advantage of it to French his favorite Englishman, eating up Theodore’s unstoppable little groan as their tongues, soft and hot, slid and tangled together, the shorter man dominating the kiss.

Making sure to leave him panting aloud and hungry for more, Vern slipped away from the kiss with a final little obscene flick of his tongue. “Damn, you’re so loud,” he murmured, whispering in Theodore’s ear again. Vern gave his earlobe a little suck, delighting in the way it made the long, slender body spasm beneath him. Such a simple little thing... “Gonna get us caught, Hops, if you don’t find a way to quiet down.”

Theodore made a struggling swallowing sound and squirmed, hands switching places on Vern’s back as his lover began to grind against him. He was sure the seats would creak, but aside from Vern’s thick and aroused voice and the pounding of his own blood in his ears, he could hear nothing but the half-distorted sound of the on-going film. Already flushed, he felt his blood beat hotter in his cheeks and throat as Vernon’s slow, determined grinding wakening his body.

“What, exactly, do you think you are--” His stifled whispers came to a sharp and desperate end, bitten off by the sudden urgent need to keep from making a desperate noise of desire. Vernon’s mouth was at work again on the other side of his throat, leaving him spread open beneath him, exposed neck and trembling limbs all too appallingly happy to let the man do as he wanted.

Vern slid his other hand down the old man’s body, pushing it under the shirts as well to enjoy more of that long torso. He ran his hands over his lover, wanting to satisfy that aching urge for contact that had so recently been brought to his attention. Vern grinned to himself, kissing behind Hop’s ear and nipping the top of the helix. He could feel Hops getting hot beneath him, a hard bulge beginning to grow in his pants. Just the thought of his ever-so prim and proper lover, horny and hard and nervous and getting felt up in public, only made him burn hotter. Vern kissed him on the mouth again with a reckless smile, determined to tease his partner until he begged, in public or not.

Strong hands made their way down to the covered bulge of the older man. First cupping it and giving it a good squeeze, chapped lips remained attacking his lovers flesh, Vernon, then, let go and twisted his wrist until his hand had turned into dulled claws. The fiery haired lover felt pride swell up in his chest, as he smirked into the other man's flesh, as he raked his nails over the needy mound. After a few goes, each round digging his fingers a little deeper into the flesh, he could hear the panting his delicious prim and proper date tried to subdue.

Vernon pulled his face away, as he looked smug and down right predatory over the man he planned to devour.

Mr. Grasshopper truly did feel like the prey of some beastly carnivore, and he supposed that wouldn't have been too far from the truth. The Englishman was trying to control his breathing-- lest he would stop all together!-- when he gasped as his lover's hands began to undo his trousers. While his body refused to move and stop this, Theodore's mouth and sensibilities decided this was enough and had to give it another try.

“Vernon...”

“Shh. Don't worry, babe, I'm gonna take real good care of ya.”

That was exactly what the olive-toned man craved and feared. And he felt his own lips clamp shut, his body working against his mind-- 'Mutiny!' some humor oriented part of his conscience couldn't help but cry – as Vernon Centipede's fingers slipped under the fabric touching the neatly trimmed hairs of his pelvis. He squirmed as he felt the nails trail between the tuft, reaching towards his throbbing member before retreating back up and away again. Theodore gasped in desire and disappointment. This made the man on top of him chuckle that amused and guttural laugh of his, knowing full well what he was doing to the poor musician. The younger man, though fiendish in his way, seemed to take some sort of pity on the libidinous lanky gentleman as he clawed his way back to Mr. Grasshopper's aching libido.

However, his face reddened as he felt Vernon go all the way in and grip his elongated shaft, pulling it out and exposing his need to the cool air of the theater.

“Vernon!” He tried to plead again for the man to cease, though his breathy whisper could not hide his excitement.

“Ya want me to stop, sweetheart?” Vern purred softly, kissing Theodore’s neck almost chastely. “Say the word, Hops, and I’ll let ya go...”

Theodore shivered--damn that word! How could a simple, meaningless petname make his heart thunder so? He felt it again, lust’s wicked twin, love, blazing hard and sharp in his veins, stinging his skin where Vernon kissed him. He was so exposed, here in a public movie theater, so incredibly and shamelessly bared, not only in his body but in his very soul; God forbid, what if the lights should come up, what if someone should hear them and see him like this, half-naked, hard, desperately aroused, and madly, hopelessly in love with this man?

Thank God it was dark. With Vernon clear-headed and in control, what his redheaded beloved might’ve seen in his eyes and in his expression simply couldn’t bear thinking about.

The warm pressure of Vernon’s hand did nothing at all to conceal or hide his aching flesh, only exacerbating the problem with the long, slow strokes the man gave him. Vernon released him for a moment, licking his own palm with one of those filthy smiles, no doubt tasting Theodore’s flesh against his own skin before he wrapped his hand around him again, now slick and obscenely wet. Theodore’s hips didn’t buck so much as they rutted, mindlessly, almost doglike, against Vernon’s hand.

Vern suddenly gripped the base of him, his sinful smile brushing against Theodore’s cheek in a wonderful parody of a modest peck. “Well?” his incubus asked, whispers loud and clear despite his pounding blood and strangled whimpers. “Whaddaya say? Stop or go, gorgeous?”

“Please don’t stop,” he choked, his own hands fisting Vernon’s shirt and hair, respectively. “Please don’t stop,” he repeated, turning his head to offer his mouth again to his lover, begging as much with his lips as with his voice.

He felt more than he heard the low, rattling chuckle of Vernon’s amusement and felt himself squirm as that hand moved again, up and down, a torturous slow pressure that threatened to drive him totally insane, even as he simply wanted to inhabit the sensation forever. Thankful for the mouth of his lover to help stifle the noises he could only scarcely silence, Theodore thoroughly surrendered himself to his beloved’s manipulations.

Vern wasn’t sure he’d even been more smug or pleased with himself in his life. Fuck prim. Fuck proper. Fuck decent. And fuck dignified, hard. Hops might look good, all clean and upright and well-behaved, but that was nothing against how hot and real and perfect he felt and smelled and tasted and sounded when Vern was laying him to waste. How sweet and startled and completely open he was. After all, a lot of the appeal of Hops being neat and tidy was the prospect of making him dirty.

He was so dirty now, and Vern loved it. Hell, he was getting hard himself, just doing this to his old man.

Vern let himself slide away from Hops’ kiss and ran his mouth down that long throat one more time, grinning as he listened to his lover trying to keep quiet. Fucking turtlenecks! Much as he liked the idea of Hops getting hot and bothered while mostly dressed, Vern had to admit that it was seriously limiting how much skin he could get at and that just wasn’t right.

Well, there was one bit of skin that was right there, waiting for him, and he hadn’t kissed it yet. Better get on that!

With what he considered to be a pretty slick move, Vern slid off of Hops’ lap and onto his knees on the floor, between Hops’ legs. Hops jumped, startled, and looked down at him. Vern could see him in the dim glow of the movie screen, mussed and blushing and wearing this incredible expression that just made Vern want to misbehave.

“Oh dear God,” Hops breathed, in a voice that was equally astonished and exhilarated. “You’re not serious--”

Vern licked his tip and Hops grabbed the armrest and seat cushion, apparently trying not to bolt out of his skin. Vern felt himself grinning like an idiot, trying not to laugh.

“Sit up,” he said softly, kissing Hops’ leg through his trousers. “Ain’t much room down here.”

Hops shifted a little, obviously unsteady. Soon he was sitting up nice and straight and tall, almost as if he didn’t have a guy between his legs about to blow him in a dark theater. One of his hands slid into Vern’s hair, petting him, those dark eyes searching for him in the dark, the movie totally forgotten. The other hand hovered uncertainly before it covered Hops’ mouth, hiding a smile or perhaps just a breathless gasp as Vern twisted his head and kissed the palm closer to him.

Vern gave him a quick wink and taking the first few tastes of his treat.

Mr. Grasshopper found his head thrown back, neck arched from the pleasure. While it was not new that Vernon knew his way around pleasing a person with his mouth. There was something especially arousing about how his scorching mouth sucked in his hardened flesh, after having the theater's cooling system blow practically freezing air onto his member. And the soft noises the younger man made, almost being overpowered by the current musical number in the background, made Theodore's senses go wild. In all honesty, “Mary's a Grand Old Name” did not exist in that pocket of time; The only hum of sound was that made by his fireball between his legs. Vern's teeth lightly dragged against the rigid edges of the musician's shaft, light enough not to hurt but with enough pressure to make the white haired man's breathing hitch. Oh, oh my dear Lord. Up and down Vernon bobbed his head, his faintly yellowed dentition dragging along as if he was playing a wooden gurio. The musician squirmed as he felt his redheaded flame sung out a moan of delight as he happily swallowed down the juices oozing from the olive-toned penis. Mr. Grasshopper bit down his lips as he tried his best to remain as silent as he could.

Oh, but Vernon didn't entirely like that! While, sure, he didn't want the old man screaming his name so the whole theater could hear, he didn't want the man quiet either. Quiet meant Hops was thinking, holding back. And what fun was this when ol' Hops was holding back! So feeling especially evil, the Brooklyn born man removed his teeth so that his tongue could wrap itself around his prim lover's cock. Oh shit, how he loved when he could feel the old man's throbbing pulse against his taste buds! It was like he was attacking some poor creature that was going to be his meal-- it sent some primal rush to his senses.  This was life.

Vernon sucked with more urgency, needing to swallow down faster as the other man filled him more and more. He savored the salty taste of the man's seed, not helping but being reminded of how he liked his cooking. Marinated to perfection and meant to be enjoyed. And fuck- was he enjoying himself!

Theodore felt himself shuddering all over, attempting with a panicked and all-too insincere desperation to keep himself from voicing his pleasure. Vernon was being wholly obscene--somehow they’d not been caught yet, but it was no thanks at all to his lover, who was making wet, slurping, appreciative noises with his mouth that only scarcely remained under the volume of the film. If it wasn’t so incredibly good, Theodore would’ve perished from embarrassment.

He kept one hand in Vernon’s hair, fingers clenching every now and then without his permission. His mind was half-shattered, dominated by the parallel urges of lust and dread. Hot, soft, wet, tight--sudden sharpness, a sudden hint of danger to remind him that he was just a meal, just a piece of meat, that this man was only starting with his body but would soon work his way up and consume his heart and mind and soul just as easily and with the same perfect lack of hesitation or concern. The right touch would crack his chest open and expose him in all his weakness and give Vernon all the uninhibited access to the man he was devouring that he could want.

Vernon bobbed, shifted, sucked, and Theodore nearly gasped his lungs out, as he was suddenly taken to the root in his beloved’s throat, swallowed around, held, pierced through his core like a dying butterfly, fixated and formulated and known, utterly known, revealed and surely broken, words and thoughts and sounds, even sounds, yanked away, leaving him a helpless and mindless animal. His hips churned--Vernon caught them, pinned them, kept him in place for his pleasure, and there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. He could only hope, in an airy and detached way, that Vernon wouldn’t hesitate to use him for all he was worth.

Vern slid back, curling his tongue around his lover’s prick and looking up at him, curious to see what kind of reaction he was getting. Head thrown back, Hops was shaking underneath him--he must be getting close--and had his mouth covered by one of those long hands of his. Vern would’ve grinned if he didn’t have his mouth full. Hops tilted his head down and in the faint light of the movie, Vern could see only part of his expression, a wild-eyed look that darted uncertainly across his general area, looking for him.

Liking the idea of being just a phantom or a shadow to his lover, at the moment, Vern redoubled his efforts, closing his eyes as he nodded his head on his lover’s cock. This was it, this was right--just a good, hard, dirty fuck in a movie theater. Where was Hops’ composure now? Vern couldn’t have wrecked him more thoroughly if he’d bent him over the backs of their seats and fucked him blind.

He slurped hard, feeling a bone-deep satisfaction as Hops spasmed under him, trying so hard not to make a sound, still so tense and desperate to be well-behaved--and it all only made Vern harder, thinking about his lover flustered, sexy, and so, so uptight. He was going to make Hops come hard, right down his fucking throat, and it’d still only be a tease, the prelude to a long, solid fuck that would leave his partner boneless and debauched and breathless and raw-throated from all the noise Vern was going to drag out of him.

No one was going to sleep tonight.

Pulsing in his own pants, Vern got an idea and in the same instant acted on it. Shifting himself, he budged Hops’ right calf between his own legs and rubbed himself against it. Fuck, that was filthy, and he felt like a dirty goddamn mutt as he humped his old man’s leg. Hops finally let out a little whine of a noise that the movie managed to cover but which made Vern feel like a million bucks. He rubbed good and slow, not wanting to come here; he wanted to remember this place as the spot where he completely undid Hops, and not the other way around.

Theodore was close to his climax. This, however, was only a vague realization in the back of his mind, as his senses were overpowered by a melody he was sure only audible to him. The rubbing of hard cotton trousers on the pants leg of the sleeker ones. The squishy and wet slurping in time with the deep throaty moans. The thick windy exhales as Vernon breathed through his nose. The drum he heard and felt beating at a quick rhythm, threatening to vibrate fast enough to burn a gardener shaped hole in his chest. Mr. Grasshopper eyes closed as he let the rhapsody take over and dull out the rest of the world, left leaving the lanky man buzzing as his load surged through him in a jerk in the cushioned chair. He couldn't exactly hear it himself, but he could feel his lover's name leaving his lips in a velvety pant. Thick and yet soft with his overpowering love and affection for the man who made the sweetest music he had heard in all his almost seventy years.

Vernon swallowed the thick and creamy cum as if it was nothing more than a homemade milkshake. It took two gulp to go down, and even then he continued to suck until his lover couldn't seem to ooze out any more of his pleasure. The redhead looked up to see how the movie's light affected the man's afterglow; and shit! If this wasn't a Kodak moment and a half, then nothing was! As Theodore's head remained thrown back, his chest rising and falling in hasty gasps, Vern realized that the old man was absentmindedly stroking and petting his hair. The younger man couldn't help but be reminded of his mutt analogy, as he chuckled. Removing Mr. Grasshopper's dick from his mouth, with an audible “POP”, Vernon continue to rest on his knees as he watched his old man come back to earth.

“Well hello there, beautiful.”

Vernon’s voice was a low and lovely coda, the ideal reintroduction to sound after the strings of his orgasm had shrieked and snapped in his head. With a force of will, Theodore took a last deep gasp of breath and tried to control his racing heart. The hand that had covered his mouth had moved to grip the armrest, and he pried it loose and shakily ran it through his hair, testing blindly to check that his monocle was still attached to his clothing. It was long-since knocked off his face, but even if it was gone forever, he didn’t see a way clear to caring.

He found it, though, and fitted it over his eye. He looked down for Vernon, finding his lover mostly in shadow and feeling more than seeing the warm weight of his head resting against Theodore’s inner thigh. He could almost make out the glint of the man’s green eyes and that devilish smile of his, but the image of his lover’s head on his own leg and thighs clamped around Theodore’s calf made his heart and throat feel thick with love.

His mind caught up with the other man’s words.  ‘Beautiful’?  Vernon was attempting to turn his head, but dear God preserve him if it wasn’t working.  He smiled down at him, teeth exposed as the adrenaline and the endorphins flooded his system.  Knowing what was responsible for his sudden feeling of euphoria didn’t make it any less wonderful.

The words ‘my darling,’ in tones much too fond, beat against the backs of his teeth and Theodore had to swallow them down before he could speak.  “I...thank you, Vernon, that was exquisite.”

Vern snickered. Oh, it’d been a hell of a lot better than ‘exquisite,’ but if that was what the old man wanted to call it... Hops had a heartbreaker smile and Vern ticked off the second item of his checklist for the night--smile achieved. His lover looked blissed out and thrilled and Vern considered this was just another instance of a job well-done.

He unwrapped himself from around Hops’ leg and planted both hands on the chair cushions, pushing himself up. The noise his clothes made as the knees of his pants left the floor told him there was stuff stuck on there that he definitely didn’t want to think about, but it was a small price to pay. He snickered a little as he threw himself into his seat again, hearing and watching the little telltale signs that showed him Hops was putting himself away and attempting, however feebly, to put himself back to rights.

Vern stretched himself a little in his seat and found himself almost surprised when Hops leaned over and cupped his cheek, kissing him gently on the mouth. The old man had to be able to taste himself on Vern’s lips but that obviously wasn’t an impediment.

Mr. Grasshopper gently kissed Vern’s cheek and neck. “Would you like me to return the favor, Vernon?” he asked softly, and Vern felt his simmering blood start to boil a little.

“Nah,” he said, willing himself down. “Not here. But you just wait till I get you home...”

Mr. Grasshopper kissed him again. “Something to look forward to, then,” he said quietly.

Vern was a tactile guy but he didn’t often cuddle--especially not when it came to the kind of friends-with-benefits thing he and Hops had going. But there was still a lot of movie to watch and Hops was warm and pretty soft despite being skinny as a rake, and there was no point in putting the armrest back down, anyway. And besides! Nothing like going the extra mile to make for a successful mission. Vern planted his hand back on the old man’s knee in a mirror gesture of what had kicked this whole thing off and smiled as Hops slipped an arm around Vern’s shoulders and covered the hand on his knee with his own slender fingers.

He had to admit, it was kind of nice.

Even so. As decent as the rest of the movie was, Vern was perfectly glad when the lights went up and Hops gave him a faint, knowing smile, disentangling himself and leading the way back down the stairs and out of the building.

Vern didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to get behind Jessie’s wheel as he was with Hops’ hand on his thigh.

The car ride felt like to took way too long, if you were to ask the redhead of his opinion. The Brooklyn born had to control his urge to break all speed limit and traffic laws, as he attempted to return them both to the older gentleman's residence. Fuck, it felt like there was a red light and a stop sign at every turn, the universe trying its damnedest to thwart the action he knew was to come! Come on, big man-- Vernon pleaded-- give the man a break here. Just look at the old man, wouldn't you want a piece of that? Help a guy out!

There was nothing but green lights the rest of the way home, and the younger man couldn't be happier. Finally the two returned to Mr. Grasshopper's home.

“Welp,” Vernon said, throwing that beastly grin of his towards his lover, “looks like we're here. 'bout time.”

Getting out of the car and practically running to the other side of Jessie, the sunburnt man opened the door to allow the Englishman to stretch his lanky frame some before rising from the vehicle with all his usual grace.

“My, what a gentleman. “

“Sure, ain't I always?”

Mr. Grasshopper said nothing, but just smirked as they made their way up the steps and towards the porch. Man, Vernon could barely stand still as he thought out just how he planned on surprising the man with an attack the moment they went through the door. Open the door, walk inside-- not giving a single hint what he had planned--, close the door behind him and BAM! Start fucking him against the door like the very animal he knew he was. Hops wouldn't know what hit him, as he gave him his second orgasm of the night-- and surely not the last!

Vern Centipede, lost in his fantasy, did not expect to be jerked forward by his tie. Next thing he knew he was in the foyer room-- how the HELL did that happen?!-- and his own back was slammed against the door as his face was attacked by kiss after kiss. The redhead couldn't help but be reminded of the strange affection Hops had showed him earlier, after he blew him; however, this time that sweetness was overpowered by the older man's lust. Well fuck, looks like Vernon wasn't the only one who had been anxiously waiting to get back to the house!

“Shit Hops!”

“Shh,” the olive-toned man whispered into his neck, “ Quid pro quo.”

Vernon did not find himself complaining. And he sure as hell wasn't going to start as the older man began to go down and mess with his fly. In a matter of seconds Hops had him open and ready to retrieve his reward.

All and all, it had been the best date either had been on.


	6. The Man Who Knew Too Little

Vern went into work after a quick detour to his own apartment the next morning. They’d been up and busy until about three in the morning, Hops demonstrating some stamina Vern was honestly impressed by. After their last round, Vern had given Hops a quick kiss and stuffed himself back into his clothes, waving off the old man’s offer to see him to the door as he left in the wee small hours. He caught about an hour’s nap in his armchair, took a shower, and dragged himself to his coffeepot. 

He was exhausted, a little sore, bruised in some interesting places, but so cheerful that he half-expected that bluebirds would land on his shoulders and woodland creatures would follow him around. And it didn’t take much to keep him that way--even as he went through the dead-dull routine of Monday maintenance, every now and then he’d twist some way that would remind him of where Hops had left bruises or bumped him hard or even the way the old man had gotten nice and loud, and it would just put an extra little bounce in Vern’s step.

He was whistling as he poured himself his fifth cup of coffee around noon, hanging out in the staff break room for a minute or two. 

“You are being obvious,” Tenebre Spider’s voice said and Vern about popped out of his skin. He spun around and caught sight of the slim, seductive Frenchwoman sitting in the corner of the room. She sipped her cup of coffee and looked at him with a dry, faintly amused expression.

“Well, hey there, angelface,” Vern said, taking a slug of his own drink. “What’s going on?”

“I might ask you the same question, Centipede,” Tenebre murmured. She put her cup down. “Will you take a smoke break with me?”

“Sure, gorgeous, anything for you,” he said, ambling out to the back of the center with her. She popped open her cigarette case and lit her drug of choice with his offered flame, before perching herself gracefully on top of a large crate. Vern lit his own stogie. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

Tenebre blew a slow stream of smoke from between her darkly painted lips. “James tells me you have been conducting some research on Mr. Grasshopper,” she said. “I am surprised. I thought you did not like him?”

Vern chuckled deeply. “Oh, I like him, sugar, I like the old guy a lot.”

Tenebre shook her head. “No, Centipede,” she replied, “that is not what I mean. You are so obvious when you are together, you so plainly desire each other, that I am shocked that James does not yet know. That was never a question. But do you like him? I know you like fucking him, you are transparent there. ”

Vern wasn’t used to hearing such a crude word from her--she and Hops had a very similar way of talking, and it didn’t often include profanity, except in very tense situations. And anyway, all her swearing had been done in French when they were doing it, so it was still new to him. “Yeah? Kind of a sharp line to draw there, don’t ya think? I wouldn’t fuck him if I didn’t like him.”

Tenebre shook her head again. “Oh, you can be so stupid, Centipede,” she said, in a voice that was awfully affectionate for someone who was calling a guy a moron. “Tell me what you have learned, then, and what you have done about it.”

“About Hops, personally?”

“Oui.”

“Well,” Vern began, flicking some ashes off the end of his cigar, “Found out the guy is a horn-dog for music. That was pretty amusin'.”

Miss Spider made a face, obviously both disgusted by the impudence and yet amused all the same.

“Surely that is not all you have found out, Commodore. James has told me you have been on your mission for many days, and I trust that you have the skills to find out more than merely that.”

“Sure I have, doll face! I got the know-how on the ol' long legs.” The redhead paused to take in a puff of his cigar, loving the intoxicating burn it gave his lungs. “'parently he comes from some big money. Folks were art collectors-- his old man actually made the cure for the clap, sex in the blood, babe-- and they both let people come in and out of the place to see 'em. Oh! And he's been interested in music since he was a kid.”

Tenebre remained silent and she smoked her cigarettes, taking a long drag as she just watched the man next to her. Her honey eyes glistened in a way that Centipede had come to know meant that she was processing some information or another. For a moment, Vern was yet again reminded of his lover as he recalled that Mr. Grasshopper had the habit of doing the same thing. Damn, he must have had a type! Before the janitor could begin to see if the young woman and older man had any more similarities, Miss Spider finally spoke again.

“Is that all?”

“'Is that all?'” Vernon quoted as he glared at her, “Hey! This ain't been no easy info gatherin'! Hops doesn't let shit slip out. His lips are tighter than a prisoner's asshole during shared shower time!”

“Oh, tu es un stupide homme pathétique. So you have found nothing.”

“Well, “ the redhead mumbled, pissed and his ego a little wounded, “I also found out he likes to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, dancing.”

Miss Spider tilted her head in a quiet, considering way, and smiled a thin little smile. “I see,” she said.

“You see what?”

She shrugged eloquently. “I see what I see,” she said, unconcerned. “You know, for an Englishman, Monsieur Grasshopper is very French.”

Vern puffed on his cigar. “Ya lost me.”

“I am not surprised,” Tenebre sniffed. “He is a romantic, I think. When he loves, he loves deeply. Very...in love with love, unwilling to accept less. Music, candlelight, artwork, dancing, deep conversation...”

“Yeah, he’s pretty fruity that way,” Vern agreed, leaning back against the wall.

Tenebre threw him an annoyed look. “Centipede,” she said, “you are an ass. Tell me. Have you ever looked so hard at another person? This is not close attention, no, no matter what you may think, but even as hard as you are looking now?”

Vern shuffled against the wall. “Can’t say I have.”

“Non. And tell me--do you want to know more about him?”

“‘Course I do. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but it’s gotta be a helluva something!”

Tenebre gave him one of her almost-smiles that really got under his skin. That was it, he had a type. Hops did the same damn thing, and they even had the same way of looking at him, though Hops’ was more clear: that sexy, thinking, calculating look, something irresistible and elusive that he held just behind his eyes or just underneath his tongue. There was something hot and dark and fascinating about it, and though Vern simply couldn’t get at it he chased it, kept from being frustrated because he never stopped seeing little glimpses of it in his old man’s smiles and secret glances and the way he looked at Vern when they were fucking each other’s brains out.

Maybe that was part of why he wanted to know more; if he could give himself an angle on Hops, maybe he’d be able to get a little closer to that something he had to him.

“You find him fascinating?” Tenebre asked, her voice suddenly soft.

“Well, yeah.”

“You think about him when you are parted?”

“Yeah.”

“You care for his well-being?”

Vern thought about the vegetarian cookbooks he’d been looking at lately. “Yeah, ‘course I do.”

Tenebre leaned towards him, lifting her eyebrows expectantly, eyes bright. Vern looked at her intense expression, a little befuddled. 

“Uh,” he said after an awkward second. “You okay, angelface?”

Tenebre looked at him, her face crumpling. She covered her face with her hand. “Pauvre monsieur, pauvre homme,” she sighed. “Il t’aime, il t’adore, avec un coeur en flamme, pour tout le monde a voir, et tu ne sais pas--tu n’as aucune idee! Tu ne meme reve pas!”

Vern, who had never been big on French, took this for grumbling. “Jesus, Tenebre, just tell me what you want to tell me!”

She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Keep looking at him,” she said. “Have a little wonder. Why do you want to know, Centipede? Ask yourself why you want to know and what you feel when you are not with him.”

“Getting pretty soppy on me, babe.”

“And YOU are being oblivious, mon imbécile.”

Vern huffed as he went back to smoking his stogie. His teeth clamped down in annoyance, as he tried to chew on what his lady friend said. Why did he want to know? Heck, why wouldn't he want to know! Hops was a private man, so collected and clean in every sense of the word. Nothing went out of place in that man's life, unless Vernon himself threw the wrench in there-- and that's something to be proud of, he thought! – and the gentleman was no different about his past. I mean, why so secretive anyway? The janitor, himself, was an open book! Why, he'd tell you what he thought whether the other guy wanted to hear it or not! And opinions and fighting aside, he just enjoyed talking about his Ma and the way he grew up into the man he was today because of her. And it just seemed so fucking strange for somebody NOT to talk about their family, or what they did when you lived as long as Hops had. Sixty-nine years, that's a lot of time and so many different lives to have had lived. And yet, Vern knew absolutely nothing! And it just...It just didn't sit right! It didn't feel right to sleep with this man, and laugh with this man, and fight with this man for so long and not know a damn thing. 

“How do I feel?” The redhead mumbled to himself, referring to Miss Spider's earlier question. What did it feel like to not be in Hops' garden: pulling out weeds, and looking over his shoulder to see the faintest hints of smiles directed at him? How did it feel to not be there, in that lovely but hardly used kitchen, and not know if his old man ate a decent meal that night? How did it feel to be laying in bed at night, the last thing on his mind being those chocolate eyes that had shone with some strange sort of foggy light as the man rode him and touched him only hours before? How did he feel when Hops wasn't around?

Well...That was sort of the thing, wasn't it? While a part of him had this really weird longing to just drop everything he was doing to just run over to that prim and proper little home, the other part of him felt like the man was always there. Like some type of white mustached little angel on his shoulder, like a little cricket in his head, talking and whispering “remember me.” And hell, that's what Vern did! One thing or another, when he wasn't completely focused on the job at hand, WOULD remind him of the old bastard! Which just fed that ache that told him to fuck everything else, and just go see him. Because nothing else seemed as important or needed his focus as Mr. Grasshopper did. The old man who sits alone, playing that fiddle of his, just begging to be touched. Begging to be loved. 

Love?

Well shit! Where did THAT come from?! But it was true, wasn’t it? Hops wanted to be loved. It was clear as day, suddenly, and Vern couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t known it before!

Vern wasn’t any kind of stranger to lonesomeness--he didn’t like to be alone and he sought out companionship however he could. He never got attached, but he couldn’t stand not having someone to touch and to touch him and generally go to when work was over. When he didn’t have that, he felt a little hollow and had to do something to fix it, whether it was friends or more work or finding someone to take a quick roll in the hay with.

But he’d never seen anyone as wrongfully alone as Theodore Grasshopper. Sure, he had Mrs. Ladybug, but he’d seen for himself that although they were closer than most married couples, there was still more than a little distance there. A lot of the time, it was just Hops, alone in that beautiful, sterile house of his, with no one for company but the notes of dead men. And it wasn’t like he seemed to like being alone--he had this hangdog look to him when he didn’t know Vern could see him, usually after saying goodbye to Ladybug or to Vern himself.

And now that he thought about it, Vern couldn’t unthink it. Hops needed, deserved, someone to love him. He was so alone and--damn it--so unhappy, just wearing sadness like a shadow, under his feet and thrown up against his walls and so much a part of him that you didn’t even notice it. He needed someone to do for him what Vern had only ever seen maybe once or twice in his lifetime; someone needed to love that man and give him someone else to love in return. 

Hell, if he wasn’t real careful, Hops would start falling in love with him! It’d be just like the man to have high standards in everything but go and pin himself on the first sombitch with the balls to show an interest. 

Vern shifted his weight with a grunt. He had to do something about it--damn, that must be how Ladybug felt when she looked at the old man. It wasn’t right, the idea that Hops was a good guy and an artist and a tiger in the sack and way more involved in keeping the people around him happy and afloat (just look at what he did for Rabbit!) than anyone seemed to notice, but still had to sleep in that big bed of his, alone. Vern itched, all over, to be there with his old man, right now, to keep an eye on him or to fill up that house with the sound of talking or the smell of cooking food or the noise of creaking beds or whatever it took to make it less of a posh mausoleum. 

Next to him, Tenebre smiled and smoked her cigarette. “L’amour,” she sighed, almost able to hear the gears in Vern’s head turning. She didn’t see in him half of what Mr. Grasshopper must see, to be as totally besotted as he oh-so clearly was, but she would be wrong to say he didn’t have a certain charm.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Vern said. “Shit. Poor old bastard. No wonder Ladybug was such a matchmaker. Hops oughta have somebody.”

Tenebre felt like beating her head against the wall, just to get out some of the monumental frustration. But no! No, Vernon must discover it for himself. The thought that to do anything less would cause her to resemble the widow aforementioned dampened her annoyance--she liked Mrs. Ladybug but in no way thought her a role model for her own life. 

“Oui,” she said instead. “Keep an open mind, Commodore. Pay a little more attention to yourself.”

Vern suddenly have her a dirty smile. “Well, with him around, I don’t need to take care of myself as much as ya might think,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and stubbed out her cigarette against the bottom of her high-heeled boot, before hopping off of the crate. “Merely wonder and imagine, Centipede, and look closely--and do not be so quick. You are very quick, you know, in everything, to judge, to assume, to act, to talk like an idiot, to come to a conclusion. No, do not smile at me, it is not charming,” she said, with a thin smile that belied her words. “I know what filthy things you will say about quickness. Be good to him and pay attention to him, because I like him.”

“Yeah?”

“Mais oui,” Tenebre said. “All the French love romantics.” She leaned over a kissed his cheek lightly, leaving a dark lipstick mark on his skin. “Do not be stupid,” she said, and went back into the staff room.

Mr. Centipede watched her leave, a frown on his lips as he went back to smoking his cigar. Damn, she just had to be all dark and mysterious all the time, didn't she? Just coming in, saying and implying things that just left the redhead more confused than anything else. Then walking off with that confident swagger of hers, as if she just took a big ol' bite out of him. Which would have been a kinky thought-- sort of-- if it weren't for the fact it just left Vern feeling more screwy than satisfied. 

Deep green eyes were hidden from the afternoon sun, as Vern closed his eyes and leaned back more on the wall. He puffed, feeling good when he made it so that a little cloud fogged his vision, being a nice distraction. Something to occupy his mind away from thin framed cocky bitches-- thought with fondness, naturally-- as he just enjoyed his break before he had to go back inside and finish cleaning up the art room. Rumor has it some kid spilled a big ol' can of paint on the floor, and just covered it up with newspaper and left it there. Damn brat, that was gonna take a while to get out of the wooden floors. 

Vernon opened his eyes, flicking ashes to make sure they didn't just ungracefully fell onto him and burned him. He had enough burns to his ego alone, don't need to go and make them physical too! Chomping down on his stogie, holding it into place, he used one hand to wipe off the greasy black gunk from his cheek-- part of him feeling bad that it had to go-- as he looked at his watch to gauge the time. About four more hours before he could cut out of there, giving him a long night to do what he wanted. Though a part of his mind screamed “sleep!” another, more foreign voice-- one he had been hearing and heeding a lot lately-- sighed in that breathy way it was inclined to do, as one word let itself be known. “Hops...” 

Yeah, Hops. Old man, lonely house, needing warmth in that cold home of his that just encouraged the gentleman to put up that steely walls around him. Vern had worked too hard lately to let that bastard try to undo his work! Shit, no, that wasn't going to happen. So while his more selfish side growled from frustrations, the janitor bargained-- visit the old man, maybe an hour full in talking to him and most, then they would convince Hops to have some tea and him a beer in his backyard. It was supposed to stay warm, and hell...Wouldn't that be a place o catch a couple Z's?

Plus, you know, closer than the bus ride home would be.

“Shit, alright.” Vern said, smiling as he put out his cigar. “That's the plan then.”

And having something to look forward to didn't make the prospect of spending hours cleaning up paint seem as awful. 

\--

Mr. Grasshopper awoke hearing someone else’s breathing in the room. Momentarily forgetting that Vernon had left in the very early morning, he sighed luxuriously, running a hand across his sheets in pursuit of his lover’s warm body. He traced a slow arc with his arm, frowning a bit as he contacted nothing but cool bedclothes.

“Darling?” he mumbled, quite forgetting himself, half-asleep as he was. 

“I’m flattered, dearest,” Mrs. Ladybug’s voice said, and Mr. Grasshopper jumped, suddenly awake. His bedclothes covered him but he was horribly aware of his complete nakedness besides which. He dared not sit up, merely peering at her over his shoulder.

“Rosalind! Have you no decency!”

The merry widow was grinning at him with her perfect lack of modesty, hard-won through a long marriage and years as a nurse. She had obviously stopped in the action of picking up a bit of the debris of the previous evening--Mr. Grasshopper blushed to see that she had his red turtleneck in her hand.

“Oh, rich of you to say that, my love!” she replied, bustling about and tidying up. “There you lie all mussed and love-bit, which I tell you I can see even from here, and you don’t care a fig for not only having run out on both dinner and breakfast! It’s nearly ten in the morning, you Lothario, and you are still in bed.”

Mr. Grasshopper felt the prickling of guilt. “Oh, Buggy, I’m so sorry,” he said. “Dinner completely slipped my mind--I should have phoned you before we went out.”

“We, dearie?” Mrs. Ladybug asked, looking radiantly happy. “You must tell me everything, my love, absolutely everything. Drag yourself up and and make yourself decent! I’ll put the tea on and then you must tell me all about your evening!”

“Do not grow too excited,” Mr. Grasshopper said rather loudly after her, as she darted from the room. “You will doom yourself to disappointment!”

With a low sigh and a long stretch, Mr. Grasshopper rose from his bed. He smiled rather giddily at the hand-shaped bruises on his hips and wrapped himself in his dressing gown, hurrying to his bathroom. Just as well that Vernon had not stayed the night, then--a paltry thing like company could never stop Mrs. Ladybug when she was on a mission.

\--

He emerged from his bedroom with a bit of a bounce in his step, wearing a rather dapper light grey suit and a pale pink tie. Perhaps it was a little unsubtle, but he was in such a good mood that he couldn’t quite restrain himself. Yes, yes, he knew he must tether himself back to earth soon--it would not do to put so much more into the previous evening than there had been. But for now, he let himself float a bit, madly and perfectly happy.

As he turned from the staircase to enter the hall, his doorbell chimed. Dear God, his home was becoming a community gathering place! He couldn’t quite bring himself to mind, of course, but it was still quite unusual. 

“Could you answer that, dear?” Mrs. Ladybug called from the kitchen. 

“Certainly!”

Mr. Grasshopper answered the door with a smile and was somewhat surprised to see Georges Hautecourt standing outside. The nonagenarian threw his hands up in an expression of greeting. “Hello, my boy, how do you do?”

Mr. Grasshopper had not the slightest idea what the old man could be here for, but he smiled graciously and opened his door a little wider. “Good morning, Mr. Hautecourt--what a pleasure!”

Georges pressed close, leaning heavily on his cane and patting Mr. Grasshopper on his chest with a sudden expression of sorrow. “I’ve got bad news, my boy, frightfully bad news indeed. You’ll have to buck up and bear it as best you can.”

Mr. Grasshopper frowned with grave concern, ushering his guest inside and into the living room. “I’m sure I shall manage, sir, but what news has so distressed you?”

Georges wobbled into an armchair. “Can’t stay long, old boy--must visit Adelaide soon--but I figured you’d better hear it from a friendly face. I’m sorry, my lad, but I’ll put it plainly: I caught sight of your Rosie kissing some young chap on her doorstep last night.”

Mr. Grasshopper stared a little. “Indeed,” he said, not certain why this was happening. 

Georges apparently approved what must’ve seemed like noble endurance and quiet heartbreak. He patted Mr. Grasshopper on the arm. “I’m dreadfully sorry for it, old boy, but you ought to know. I don’t blame you for the heartbreak, of course--but I bring a silver lining! I’m already looking for a good lady for you, and we shall have you married and settled down with someone even better before the month is through!”

In a rush, Mr. Grasshopper realized what was going on. Years ago, when he’d first moved to Milton Heights, he’d met this very eccentric barrister among his neighbors and Mr. Hautecourt had taken a shine to him. Seeing him as the only other bachelor--Mr. Jock and Mr. Trusty apparently not counting--Mr. Hautecourt had always treated him with a warm but rather overly jocular familiarity. Years ago, he’d insisted that Mr. Grasshopper only had to say the word and he’d set him up with a few eligible ladies of his acquaintance who would think him quite a catch. The reason for Mr. Grasshopper’s bachelorhood had never seemed to occur to Mr. Hautecourt.

He hadn’t been on the receiving end of such offers in some little while and he realized that it must’ve been Mrs. Ladybug’s presence that had acted as the buffer.

“Oh,” he said, barely restraining a laugh. “Oh, I do thank you, sir, but I think I--”

“Not another word, my lad, I must be going,” Georges said, wobbling back to his feet. “I’ll hear no excuses! I’m happy to do it for another chap, I assure you. I’ll leave you to your mourning for a bit, only natural to grieve a little. But don’t worry! We’ll have some fine young filly set for you before the week is out!"

“But sir!”

“Ah,” Mr. Hautecourt said as he turned around with a totter at the door, wagging a finger. “We shall get you back on your horse yet. Mark my words!”

The lanky man felt himself sighing as he watched the other gentleman walk down his steps, nearly fumbling all the while. In that silly, charming voice of his, Mr. Grasshopper could hear the businessman going on and on after what fishes were out to see, and how no man could deny someone with legs like those. The homeowner didn't know if he should feel touched by the actions, amused by the words, or just simply embarrassed about the situation.

Mr. Grasshopper instead chose to sigh again as he closed the door of his home. Shaking his head, he finally made his way to the kitchen. Inside, Mrs. Ladybug was making some hot morning tea and some of her delicious berry pancakes.

The woman looked over her shoulder the moment the man entered the room.

“Good heavens, Mr. Grasshopper, what in the world was the ruckus all about?”

“It seemed,” the Englishman began, not being able to hide his smirk despite it all, “that you were caught in the arms of another man, by one of our dear neighbors. Mr. Hautecourt felt the need to warn me of your dubious ways, and is on a mission to find me the perfect woman to marry.”

Mrs. Ladybug couldn't help but laugh. “Oh, did he now? Oh my, I must have came off as quite the charlatan to poor Georges. Dashing all hopes of me being a proper lady.”

“Nobody could ever doubt you being a lady, Buggy.”

“Now don't go making my heart go a fluttering, love, you have a young man that would surely get jealous!”

Mr. Grasshopper rolled his eyes, straightening himself up as he heard the tea pot whistle. Knowing his companion was busy finishing up their breakfast, the lanky man took it upon himself to prepare the tea. He was fetching his favorite tea set-- white on the outside, with elaborate light and dark green designs inside the cups-- the gentleman almost ungraciously dropped the second teacup as he heard Rosie speak up again.

“And speaking of cheating ways and abandoning the elderly, what was that about this morning, dearie? I do believe you were going to tell an engaging story about why we missed dinner-- and what handsome young thing stole you away from me. Details, love!” 

He gave her an indulgent look, though it was tinged with warning. “I am more than willing to account for our evening, but you mustn’t let yourself get so worked up, my dear. You shall be dreadfully disappointed.”

“A very handsome rake plucked you away and spirited you off for a night on the town, Mr. Grasshopper! How can I not be delighted for you?”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled, the joy of the experience all-too easily rekindled by his friend’s enthusiasm. “Well, I thank you. Coming in from the garden yesterday afternoon, Mr. Centipede announced quite suddenly his intention to take me out for supper--”

“Oh,” sighed Mrs. Ladybug, and Mr. Grasshopper gave her a look of admonishment. 

“You must let me try to get through without editorializing, my love,” he scolded lightly. 

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving a hand and flipping a pancake. “Go on, do go on.”

He gave her the general gist of his evening, including Vernon’s clothing and the meal they shared though he carefully omitted the more racy details. 

“I confess I do not remember much of the film,” he murmured instead, and from Mrs. Ladybug’s “oh, you wicked creatures!” and the approving swat on his arm, he assumed that she had reached the correct conclusion. He informed her that they had a late evening in each other’s company before Vernon took his leave.

“Small wonder you were still abed when I arrived, then!” she said, spreading her napkin as he served her the pancakes she’d pulled together. “Where you two get the energy I’m sure I have no idea. Will you date him again?”

Mr. Grasshopper took a sip of his tea. “I should scarcely call it that,” he replied smoothly. “I admit that this was quite a wild whim of his, but I would not couch it in such rigid terms. It is absurd to expect any kind of continuation of the matter. The situation is impermanent and should be enjoyed all the more for its ephemeral qualities.”

Mrs. Ladybug huffed. “Oh, don’t be difficult,” she said, taking a bite of her meal. She swallowed primly. “You’re daffy for the man, Mr. Grasshopper, it would be silly not to act upon it! The next time he tries to leave your bed, just drag him back in by the belt. It always works on my gentlemen.”

“He does not use belts.”

“Then there’s surely no excuse! The suspenders make for such a much more excellent target, anyway.”

Mr. Grasshopper shook his head. “It is unfeasible,” he said simply. 

“You are pining, my dear,” Mrs. Ladybug insisted. “You ought to be the one to make a move, you know, if you hope to gain anything from this.”

“But I certainly do not hope to gain anything,” Mr. Grasshopper lied, as he began to skim the Arts and Leisure section of the newspaper. “I am quite content with what I have now. I’m afraid I am not as romantic as you and I do not harbor any notions of a more meaningful assignation...”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Ladybug cried. “Not as romantic--indeed! I am nearly the least romantic person in the world, Mr. Grasshopper, as you well know. I have never fallen in love with any of my young gentlemen, mind you, and I certainly do not wish to do so; on the contrary! YOU are the one to fall in love with the man, and--oh, Mr. Grasshopper, you are teasing me! Have you even been listening?”

Mr. Grasshoppers eyes were fastened on the newspaper. He sat up with a jump. “I beg your pardon!” he said quickly. “I did hear you, Buggy, I am sorry for my inattention. I only noticed that Carmen is in town.” He couldn’t quite restrain his smile. Surely, it was a very popular show, but classics were classics for a reason. “I trust you will be able to join me?”

“Carmen? Oh, you and your theater. Actually, that does sounds quite lovely. How long are they showing?”

“Just the weekend, before they move on to Saint Canard. It seems we are just a quick stop for them. Though, I hardly think the urban crime life there would appreciate it as much.”

The woman sighed sadly. “Just this weekend? Oh no, oh dear. Then I can’t make it, love.”

The lanky man had been reading the paper again when he heard her sigh. He jerked his head up, and lifted a brow in confusion. “Plans, Buggy?”

“Sadly, I do. On Saturday is one of my charity functions. It will be till the very throes of night, and I won't be returning home until sometime after midnight. And Sunday...Why, I promised Mrs. Kluck to help her with her protest!”

“Nothing extreme, I hope.”

Mrs. Ladybug waved off his concern, taking another bite of her meal. After chewing delicately and swallowing, she smiled and she went on.

“Oh no, I would hardly agree to one of her more bloodthirsty affairs. No, dearie, it's nothing more than a sit-in. I believe I can sit quietly while she does all the squawking.”

The homeowner frowned as he looked back at his paper. Shame, he was rather fond of Carmen-- and it wasn't just every day that this specific group came to town. But, he supposed, he should manage an evening by himself. Though, he lamented internally, going out to see an opera by oneself was a bit on the lonely and miserable side of things. 

“You know, Theodore,” his female companion spoke up once more, a coo to her voice, “I'm sure a certain Mr. Centipede wouldn't mind being on the receiving end of a wine and dine experience. A dinner and a show between two handsome gentlemen...”

Mr. Grasshopper gave her a dry look, although a smile touched his lips as he looked at her, batting her eyelashes at him innocently. It would be a breach of their own unusual etiquette, he was sure, to invite Vernon. But then...

Well, it was Carmen, after all. And it would be only fair, surely, to repay Vernon for as lovely an evening as last night. They could have supper somewhere and go enjoy the opera--if Vernon had never seen it before, which Mr. Grasshopper strongly suspected, it would be such a treat! He might have to sell the prospect of opera a bit (he could just imagine the expression on Vernon’s face if he proposed a night of music in a foreign language) but he might just be able to convince him that he would enjoy himself.

“I wonder if he has a real suit,” he murmured to himself. Mrs. Ladybug practically glowed.

“Oh, I’m sure you can pull together something, between the two of you,” she said encouragingly. “After all, wouldn’t he look so handsome in a tuxedo?”

“Merely formal should suit the occasion,” Mr. Grasshopper said. An English suit would look perfectly ravishing on him, he was sure...close cut lines and meticulously tailored seams coming to drape just right. Vernon would never agree, certainly not if he ever had any idea what a real suit cost. But maybe, with the right amount of finesse and obfuscation...

“Well, I shall ask if he is available,” he said finally. 

“Excellent choice, my dear,” Mrs. Ladybug chirped. 

“You are incorrigible,” Mr. Grasshopper said, flicking away the newspaper. “Now then. I have done a great deal of talking this morning--do tell me about the young man you were caught kissing.”

Mrs. Ladybug was sorry to see him change the subject--she wasn’t nearly done putting the screws to him about speaking his mind to his paramour--but her newest quarries were always a joy to discuss and Mr. Grasshopper had a way of listening that was the very best kind of mock-shocked and approving, so she launched into a dissertation on the many joys of her newspaper boy.


	7. Taken

Vern knocked off work with a deep sigh of relief. Damn, he’d thought he wouldn’t ever get out of there, for a little while. Despite his bone-deep exhaustion and his long day, he still hadn’t burnt off the last of his cheerful mood, and he lit a cigar with a feeling of perfect contentment and stuffed his hands in his pockets, ambling down the street. Time to check on Hops.

The walk had not been very eventful, one way or another, but the sunburnt man was glad it didn't take too long to go the remaining blocks to get to the neighborhood. While on the way there, he had mostly just payed close attention to the sidewalk while walking. Vernon had the worst habit, or some would say, of walking with his head down and charging forward when he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Usually the Brooklyn born man wouldn't mind slowing down, maybe check out some of the skirts as he went by-- don't need to want to sleep with all the ladies to appreciate them, after all; however, that day he was somewhat dreading the fact that if he didn't concentrate on the ground he might start thinking again. See, thinking was a big and complicated ordeal. Thinking opened up parts of his brain that started making connections. Connections that usually went to feelings he wasn't too overly comfortable with.

And Vern was busy avoiding the topic of love at this moment, lest he think of his old lover. Damn, fucking Tenebre, she had made such a big show and now he couldn't forget! He couldn't help but feel some sadness for Hops. Sadness for the old musician who played love songs on his fiddle, begging for a life full of things he never got. While Vern, himself, had never been in love before...He couldn't help but think of his Ma. There was a woman who had fell hard and fast for a young dark-haired private, devoted a few years to a man she had left her catholic family for, only for him to get blown up in a war that shouldn't have even been. Leaving her alone, in pain, and with child. Now, the redhead himself had never met his old man...But the way his ma talked about him, it was like he was always looking out for them. Like a guardian angel as Mama Centipede would show off his medals, and as she would from time to time comment how much Vern looked like him. Sometimes with sorrow, but mostly with that special warmth and twinkle that only a person truly in love had. 

Love, you see, was a tough topic for him. With the way people threw it around like it meant nothing...Shit, it pissed him off! That was like crapping all over what his Ma had for his Pops. And Vern didn't care what you said to him, insult him, rip him a new one even! BUT, nobody was going to insult his Ma. There had been a few times during sex, a rather hot and steamy affair, girls with their legs over their heads as he was pounding them senseless...And then these dumb bitches would say some sham phantoms of the feeling, passionate lies of “I love you”, and it would instantly kill his boner. And if he had just picked the broad up from a random pub, and didn't personally know them, he would just pull out and leave them. Confused, but mostly angry as they would throw things at him as he stomped out.

You don't just fucking throw those words around, when Vernon Centipede was in earshot.

But then he thought of Mr. Grasshopper, and there was a man who desperately needed what his Ma had. There was a handsome clean and pressed devil, filled to the brim with longing just waiting for any ol' joe to come along and fill it up with the red wine of affection. Waiting for the vibrations of music to become real touches of another man's hands. And Vernon didn't know what to feel about it. It hurt him to know his lover had years upon years of icy blues in his soul. It made the redhead want to take away the chill and wrap his body around him and warm him up again. To get the blue veins pumping full of life again. To be there and make sure he didn't need to play those awful and heart wrenching dirges no more. 

Though, Vern argued, maybe it wasn't his place? What if him being there was actually preventing the man from finding some other guy to do all of that for him. I mean, not that Hops was in love now, but that was the problem! How many years left did those legs have left to kick? Ten? Twenty years tops! And shouldn't the old bastard be out looking for somebody who could give him that before he keeled over and was buried in the ground? What if the younger man was preventing him from that last beautiful love before he poofed for good?

Fuck...Vernon did not like where these thoughts were going. Where the hell did death come from? Fuck that! The man was practically as lively as Vern was! Old fucker is probably going to go into the world book as the longest living sexiest beast around! When the redhead would start needing a cane to get around, Hops will just be there not looking like he aged a day and standing as straight as ever. 

But...Death aside...Somebody DID need to be there to make Mr. Grasshopper happy. And maybe, even for just a little while, it could be him.

Vernon was thankfully jolted from his thoughts-- shit! So much for being focused on the sidewalk!-- as he saw the ever familiar home of his lover and boss. Re-adjusting his hat, he gave a quick yawn before trudging up the steps.

“Check in on the man, woo the man into catching some rays, and then use that time to catch some Z's.”

The sunburnt man mumbled this under his breath, over and over, just so he wouldn't forget. He was there to satisfy both the mind and the body, after all!

He staggered up the steps, hearing a fast baseline thudding within the house, contained by the windows. He must be coming in the middle of crescendo--perfect entrance, he thought with a quirked smile.

He barged right in, having gotten the run of the place ever since he started boinking the man of the house. Vern almost stopped short, certain that he had staggered into the wrong house--yeah, the foyer was exactly the same, and he could see that the living room was definitely Hops’, but there was no reason for this music to be playing. 

It was hot, this jazzy swing tune that he knew couldn’t have possibly ever touched Hops’ ears. He just imagined the man sniffing skeptically, remarking that “It was certainly sound, but it couldn’t possibly be music.”

Vern peered into the living room, half-certain he was hallucinating from exhaustion.

Hops was in residence, sure enough, and was dipping Mrs. Ladybug low to the ground. Suddenly the old man bounced her back up, their figures straightening in time with the music, his hands keeping a loose grip on her as they both performed some kind of fancy footwork, whirling around the living room. Hops spun her several times, throwing her away and bringing her back, until he had them back to chest, both kicking and stepping together, until they hit the ground on a downbeat and Hops swung his leg between her ankles in time with her bouncing into the air. It wasn’t much, but it caught Vern by surprise and he stared, watching Hops pull her back towards him and holding himself so straight and tall, the more rapid motions suddenly smoothing into longer, deeper steps together.

They waltzed around, Grasshopper bright and agile, Mrs. Ladybug laughing and delighted as he guided and spun her, her skirts always caught but never catching in his long legs. He guided her about, behind and around his furniture, absolutely confident of not only where he stepped but where she stepped, too.

Vern’s first thought was a crazy one, an old, long-dead suspicion confirmed--they were an item. The way Hops moved her around, the way he ran his hands up her when he dipped her low, the way she kicked her leg up to follow his motions; Hops was two-timing her with him.

Then Vern kicked that to the curb because it was crazy. Hops was as fruity as a nutcake, of course, and wasn’t into Ladybug in any way. But the way he moved...he didn’t even want her, but when he danced, he sure as hell looked like he was sexing up somebody!

Yeah. Kluck was right. He had to have been a dancer at some point.

The song ended and Hops slithered down her arm like the snake in the garden of Eden, kissing her knuckles as he went. “Are you satisfied, my love?” he asked, standing up straighter.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like the song, Mr. Grasshopper,” Mrs. Ladybug scolded, patting her hair back into place. Neither of them had noticed Vern. “And you like dancing with me! You’re the only man to do so...”

“Surely your husband...?”

“Oh, he had two left feet! We didn’t even have a first dance, he was so embarrassed.” Mrs. Ladybug turned to see Vern standing in the doorway of the living room and jumped. “Oh! Mr. Centipede!” She looked at Hops, grinning. “What a lovely surprise!”

“Oh, er, yeah...” Whether it was because he was tired, or because he still couldn't completely process what he had just saw, Vernon was having the hardest time thinking of words to say. “Good evenin' ma'am.”

Mr. Grasshopper seemed just as surprised by the unexpected intrusion, but he was still experiencing his bliss from the dance, that he didn't even try to hide his fond smile for his lover. 

“Vernon, I was not expecting a visit from you this evening.”

“Should I have...ah, made an appointment?” The redhead was still feeling weirded out, not quite sure how to explain it. He just knew, at that moment, he wasn't the happiest about how touchy feely the two old people were being at that moment. Part of him couldn't help but imagine himself rushing the remaining distance of the room and just pulling Hops away from Mrs. Ladybug. But, knowing how crazy that sounded-- thinking it was just his lack of sleep putting odd thoughts in his head-- Vern opted to, instead, cover his eyes with his hat. Shit, didn't even want to look at the two right now.

Okay, that was a lie, because only a moment later did he tilt his hat to the side so he could get a peep at his old man still showing off those pearly whites of his. 

Mr. Grasshopper, after giving one last affectionate pat to his dancing partner, broke away to get closer to his lover. He laughed softly, as he tried to usher the man into the room.

“Nonsense! I was merely surprised. I did not expect to see you tonight, especially after,” The Englishman trailed off, before redirecting his thoughts. “Well, after your late night and your long day of labor down at the center. Why, you must be beyond tired!”

“Mr. Grasshopper, dearie, “ Mrs. Ladybug threw in, after taking a good long look at the younger man, “He looks practically dead standing there. Maybe he should lie down, or at the very least, sit before he collapses on us.”

Mr. Grasshopper gently pushed Vern towards the sofa by the small of his back, flicking off the record player as he went. Vern let himself be pushed, noticing in a kind of distracted way how he could feel Hops radiating warmth through his clothes from the exertion of dancing, his fast-moving blood heating up the traces of cologne on his skin and making it more noticeable. Vern associated that smell with sex now--the only time until then that he’d smelled that scent so clearly--and he plopped onto the sofa not totally sure how he felt about the fact that Mrs. Ladybug, pressed up on the old man as she’d been, must be able to smell it, too.

“Let me get you something, dear, you look parched,” Mrs. Ladybug said. 

He should probably have a glass of water--he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, feeling how dry his throat was. “Beer,” he said instead. 

Hell. He might not know why he felt so weird, but he needed a drink to get rid of it.

Mrs. Ladybug tottered off to procure precisely that and Mr. Grasshopper busied himself with one of two teacups on the end table. As Mrs. Ladybug passed into the kitchen, he leaned across the table and lightly pecked Vern’s cheek. “I’m happy to see you, Vernon. How are you?”

“Whooped,” he said simply. “Way more’n you, if you can move like that after last night.”

Mr. Grasshopper cleared his throat in a way that Vern couldn’t help but think was a complete lie, if the old man could move someone he didn’t even want to screw like that. He wasn’t going to buy that the old man was a prude anymore--he was a lewd, slippery serpent going around, acting like a gentleman, but Vern had seen through that! 

“I admit I am not at my most flexible at the moment,” he said, giving Vern a significant glance and rather carefully settling into an armchair, “and I believe it affected my ability.”

Hops was usually more flexible? Jesus Christ! What was he doing wrong to not get that kind of motion out of the old man?

Mrs. Ladybug returned with a cold glass full of dark gold liquid. “There you are, my dear,” she said sweetly, taking up the other teacup and draining it. 

Vern knew, even as he lifted the glass to his lips, that it wasn’t genteel, but he drank the whole glass in one go, before clasping the empty glass in both hands and staring at the pair of them. “So what’s the occasion, then, if you two are flipping each other around like that?”

Mr. Grasshopper’s smile died on his lips and he frowned, looking concerned. “I beg your pardon--an occasion?”

“For us to be dancing? Why, the fact that it was five in the afternoon,” Mrs. Ladybug said with a little sparkle of a laugh. “We do that quite often, dearie...it keeps us limber!”

Limber, huh. It was so goddamn weird, he knew, he knew it was--he didn’t know why--but he was pissed off, thinking about them sliding around the living room on a regular fucking basis. Hops with his hands all over her and her smelling Hops’ cologne and just...

He ground his jaw a little and looked at the glass in his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Mr. Grasshopper said, his expression unchanging as he took in Vern’s posture. Mrs. Ladybug gave him a glance and they exchanged an eloquent look. “Would you take some rest, Vernon? You look very exhausted.”

“'Rest?'” It had slipped through sun baked lips as a deep growl, not even sure where it came from himself. He made sure when he spoke again, it was less threatening-- wasn't any reason to scare the old folks. “Uh, yeah. Maybe I should...I should go. Don't even know why 'm here, anyway. Brain musta died and I went on auto-pilot or somethin'.” Vern looked away as he stood up. “I'm gonna go. Sorry about disturbin' you folks. Don't let me stop that jiving o' ya's.”

A whiff of that intoxicating scent of cologne hit the young man again, as Mr. Grasshopper practically jumped from his seat and grabbed onto Vernon's wrist. The redhead chose to believe his hand only felt tight on his wrist because he was so damn out of it, and not that the man had the strength to back it up. The lanky figure, still holding Vern's limb, went around the table to get closer. Before he could protest with more than a cry of “hay!” as his cap was removed from his head, taking away his only cover from chocolate gazes, and set it on the couch with haste. The hand that had threw his hat aside then returned itself to Vern as it touched his face. Damn, those hands felt so fucking soft, it was almost unnatural!

“Vernon, you are beyond pale, with bloodshot and dilated eyes, and your skin is clammy to the touch. Not to mention your pulse is racing.” So the old man had been feeling his pulse! That explained why he was still touching him that way. “I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to leave.”

Vern couldn't help but crack a smile, even through his haze.

“You keepin' me prisoner, warden?”

“Yes. You're staying in place where I shall know you haven't died from over use.” The older man, for whatever reason, didn't let go as he began to lead Vern towards the stairs. “I shall return, Buggy. I do believe Vern will be occupying my chamber for a spell or two.”

“Yes, of course,” worry was in her voice, “should I go collect anything, love?”

Vern prickled a little. What was it with these two and their stupid pet names? He wanted to yell at her to knock it off, but just ground his teeth instead. Maybe that was it. Maybe Hops should just up and marry her, if he needed someone to love him so goddamn bad. 

“No, thank you, I think not,” Hops said, nudging Vern up the stairs first. Vern wondered about that until he felt the hand on the small of his back and he realized that Hops thought he might actually drop on the way up. He wondered if the old man could actually carry him even if he wanted to--he wasn’t a big guy, but Hops was pretty frail. 

He wasn’t about to test it. Vern went upstairs without protest, chalking his willingness up to exhaustion. Hops hovered over him, looking at him with concern as he flopped down on the guy’s bed. “You really oughtn’t have gone into work today,” Hops said in a quiet voice, vanishing into the bathroom and reappearing with a glass of water. “You shall make yourself ill. I am sure you are dehydrated--please drink this.”

Vern shrugged and slugged the water back. “Ain’t no sick days for guys who’re just sex-hungover,” he said with a little bit of a grin. He kicked his boots off and swung his legs up onto the bed. Damn. As much as he’d been in this bed before, he’d never actually laid out flat and felt it. It was nice! Firm and supportive and soft and it smelled fresh and clean. He already felt himself starting to unwind, barreling towards sleep.

“Perhaps not,” Mr. Grasshopper allowed, refilling the glass and leaving it on the end table. “Rest well, Vernon.”

Vern waved a hand. “Don’t lemme sleep much,” he said. “Got shit to do.”

“Of course,” Mr. Grasshopper lied. His hands and lips twitched with the inane urge to stroke Vernon’s hair or kiss his temple and he restrained himself with a momentary burst of will. What a foolish thought! He smiled slightly, watching the man in his bed shift onto his side and push one hand beneath the pillow supporting his head. Vern waved an arm out and grabbed another pillow, pulling it to his chest. 

He was a cuddler? Mr. Grasshopper never would have known.

He closed the door gently on his way out, thinking with an unhappy little upward quirk of his lips that he had the man sleeping in his bed after all. He shook his head, moving down the stairs.

“Do you think he’s ill?” Mrs. Ladybug asked him quietly. 

“I believe he is just exhausted,” Mr. Grasshopper reported. “A solid bit of sleep shall restore him, I am sure.”

“How solid?” 

Mr. Grasshopper went over to his grandfather clock and deftly disabled the ringing, on the off chance that it would chime and wake Vernon from his sleep. “It’s about six now,” he said, “I believe Vernon wakes at six in the morning to go to work. I shall not disturb him until then.”

“Twelve hours!” Mrs. Ladybug said, surprised. “But dearest--where on earth will you sleep?”

“I do have a guest room,” he said, taking a seat on the sofa. “I am sure it is comfortable; James has never mentioned that it is otherwise. We shall just be rather quiet for the evening.”

“You know...It IS your bed, dear. Ever consider sneaking in and just laying besides him?”

Mr. Grasshopper gave her one of those looks that was both scolding, yet equally said “oh how I wish!” He went back to his tea, picking it up for a much needed drink. After letting the aroma and taste hit his senses, calming him after his scare over his younger lover, he finally replied.

“No, that would not do. Vernon is my guest, and I fear I would merely disturb him before the twelve hours. For a stubborn, vulgar scoundrel...He has the most admirable work ethics. I just despair over the notion that he might be running himself into the ground. He's a fireball of energy, but if he keeps this up he'll burn out far too soon.”

Mrs. Ladybug took a sip of her own drink, before swishing the liquid around in the cup. The dark haired woman took another sip before speaking again.

“Theodore, love, did you notice the mood he was in? Besides the overall sickly look he had on him, didn't he seem a little...off?”

“Hmm?” The lanky man thought it over, trying to recall how the man was acting. Mr. Grasshopper would admit he had been slightly walking on clouds when he saw Vernon had returned to him again, after the lovely night they had before. But when he did begin to notice the man's behavior, the first thing he picked up was his paleness. The olive-tone man had only witnessed his paramour that shade once before, and that was when the musician had nicked his thumb on the blades from that ghastly old mower. 

“Honestly? Yes, I noticed he was a little off. I chalked it all up to exhaustion. Vernon tends to have his mood affected depending on his hunger, so it comes as no surprise to me that being weary would cause him agitation as well.”

“Oh, I don't know, “ Mrs. Ladybug paused, with a small smile, “I would have described it more as jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” he echoed, trying to imagine it. “What on earth do you mean, Buggy? I don’t think there’s very much that Vernon could be jealous about.”

“Well, some might say that you had me in your arms, for one thing,” Mrs. Ladybug said. “And for another...dearest, I don’t think you know your own power when you dance! You were quite dashing!”

He smiled a little, flattered by the sentiment even if the action itself was unintentional. As it happened, he did know just how dashing he could be when he danced--it had done him in very good stead for some little while and it was reassuring to know that he still had it. After a moment, however, that expression became a wry, self-mocking smirk. “I appreciate it, my dear, but I sincerely doubt Vernon would wish to usurp your position as a dance partner.”

“No, I don’t imagine so,” Mrs. Ladybug said, “but all the same, he looked quite green-eyed over you.”

Mr. Grasshopper paused, uncertain if she was simply unaware. “Well, yes,” he said after a moment. “His eyes are green, after all. I should be astonished if he were to cast any other eye-colored glance over me.”

“Don’t be thick, Mr. Grasshopper, you are much too bright a man for that,” Mrs. Ladybug scolded him. “He did not at all like to see me in your arms, my dear. I thought he would snatch you up and start growling at me, I truly did. He wants you all to himself.”

Even if that were true, Mr. Grasshopper reflected, he could scarcely be any more thoroughly Vernon’s, as things stood now. That wholly depressing thought in mind, he finished the last of his tea. “I should be very hesitant,” he said, “to assume such a feeling from him. I would imagine it more likely that he is jealous, if anything, of my energy, which is considerable in relation to his.”

Mrs. Ladybug made an expression as if she were biting into a lemon. “You are wholly impossible, Mr. Grasshopper,” she said with a grumble. “I wish you would take this in a more serious light!”

“I take it in the light of God’s eternal truth,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a very dry smirk. “And I think that romantic streak you disavow so earnestly is showing again.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Ladybug exclaimed. “I want to shake you! What on earth is it about you being in love that is such a catastrophe, anyway?”

“I could provide a list, if you would be willing to wait,” Mr. Grasshopper drawled. After a moment, he straightened his back. “And I beg you to keep your voice down,” he added, as if she hadn’t spoken in a perfectly normal tone. “You cannot know how sound will carry.”

“Since you are jolly-well screaming it out with every look and touch yourself, I daresay I cannot understand why you would feel the need to hush me, my love,” she sighed, shaking her head. 

Mr. Grasshopper merely rolled his eyes, before waving her off.

“Now, enough about your silly fantasies. I would rather talk about something else. Would you oblige and tell me what this week charity function is? I'm afraid you never did disclose the information besides it being a late night function. What does it pertain to? As in what philanthropy is being done, and towards what?”

“You know,” his dark haired companion said in a huff, though a smile could well be seen, “I think you're just trying to get us off of talk of you.”

“Never. Just genuine curiosity.”

Mrs. Ladybug shook her head, before giving in. All right, that is the game then. Besides, she thought, she did promised not to push and pull on their relationship anymore. And deep down, she truly believed they would figure out their troubles on their own. Theodore and Vernon were good men. Good, lovable, if not utterly oblivious and idiotic, men. Two people that truly did deserve each other.

Now if only they could figure it out faster!

Mrs. Ladybug did, indeed, discuss her charity function. Which somehow lead to talk of Julia Andrews, and her performance in the musical comedy “Victor Victoria”. As well as a healthy, if not a disagreeable, debate about whether the movie was better than the original German version that came out almost seventy years before.

The hours were filled with idle chit-chat, until the woman had decided it was time for supper. For the slightest of moments Mr. Grasshopper had wondered if he should wake up his lover to feed him. However, if the man was still sleeping away he must have been beyond tired! No. It would not do to wake him. Instead he requested that Buggy make enough for leftovers, at the slightest chance he may wake during the night, crawling down to the kitchen on a search for food. So, in her fashion, she made enough to feed a miniature army, far more than the likes of them could eat!

Finally the clock struck nine, signaling time for the two to depart. The lanky man showed her to the door, where she stopped and kissed both of his cheeks in farewell.

“Now you'll consider what I said won't you, love? At the very least, get between the covers with your man!”

“Hush now, lest your tawdry talk disturb the neighbors.”

“My love, if they’re even half as anxious about your romance as I, they shall be thoroughly delighted to hear that progress is being made,” Mrs. Ladybug observed. 

Mr. Grasshopper gave her a playful scowl. “Complete nonsense. It is nothing of the kind.”

Mrs. Ladybug threw up her hands in an unknowing mirror of Georges Hautecourt’s gesture on the porch this very morning, and began down the steps. “I’ve had enough of you! Good night!”

Mr. Grasshopper chuckled softly, watching to make sure she got into her house safe and sound. When the light popped on in her living room, he closed his door and threw the deadbolt.

He sat down on his sofa for another hour and a half, reading the newspaper. Mrs. Ladybug’s presence had prevented his attention to the news of the day and he sat with it, slowly absorbing the information as he pleased.

Around ten thirty, Mr. Grasshopper went through the house turning off lights and clearing away the mess of the day. He did the dishes and set them out to dry, closed the piano and drew the curtains across the windows. Remembering that his novel was on his nightstand, Mr. Grasshopper decided that he would have to enter his bedroom after all.

Wary of waking his lover, Mr. Grasshopper moved quietly up the steps, listening for any loud or unexpected noises. It was quite silent upstairs, which surprised him--for some reason, he would’ve thought Vernon a snorer. 

His bedroom was dark and cool and from the bed he could hear Vernon’s breathing. It was the breath of a man deeply asleep--slow, even, and deep. It was not soft, but it wasn’t quite a snore. His eyes adjusting, Mr. Grasshopper spotted his book and his lover in the same glance. Vernon had moved little, except to wriggle, likely half-asleep, under the covers. He had one pillow in a vice grip and Mr. Grasshopper looked at the lucky cushion with a wry smile. He retrieved his book.

He oughtn’t watch Vernon sleep, he knew, but the man looked so different while asleep. So relaxed and at ease...Mr. Grasshopper was used to seeing the man of action, never the man in repose. It was a charming thing to discover, how peaceful an expression Vernon produced when he was asleep.

It occurred to him to kiss the man in his bed, at least on the forehead, and with that thought Mr. Grasshopper whirled around and left as quickly and silently as he could. Vernon was a guest in his house--to touch him without his knowledge, even so chastely and (he thought with some distress) lovingly, would be the act of an unconscionable cad.

He stripped from his clothes and installed himself in the guest bed, sitting up to read for another hour before he finally doused the light. There was something quite typical of him, he thought, sliding down the bed, in having his beloved in his bed and himself out of it. He might well be missing out on his only chance to sleep beside the man.

He knew down to his bones that this was the right choice, but he laid awake for a long while nevertheless.


	8. Bad Company

Vern woke up certain that it was Saturday. That was the only day of the week he woke up under his own steam, no alarm clocks necessary. The room was dark around him, though. Had he slept in that much, that it was already evening? Jesus! What had he been up to last night?

Vern rolled onto his side, not ready to open his eyes yet. What should he do with the day? Probably have a good breakfast and make plans with his friends...visit Hops, too.

Wait.

Hops.

It wasn’t Saturday. 

Vern popped awake and experienced that sick rush of surprise that came from awakening in an unfamiliar place. But as his wits returned to him and he recalled where he was, he calmed down a little.

Damn it! Hops was supposed to wake him up! What the hell time was it?

Vern reached out for the nice clock on the bedside table and peered at it in the dark. Five in the morning? Shit! He usually woke up an hour from now! He’d slept the whole night through!

He grumbled and flopped himself a little more on the bed. Hops was such a liar...or he guessed he was, anyway. People had told him before that there was no waking him when he was determined to sleep--maybe he’d given Hops enough trouble that the old man had just let it go. 

Or maybe, he thought grumblingly, he’d been too busy with Ladybug to notice.

Vern rolled over again. Come to think of it--this was Hops’ bed. So where was Hops?

After taking his morning whizz, Vern set out to finding just where the hell the old man was. That is, that was the plan until his stomach growled and an ache for food hit him full force. Shit! Okay, plan B: breakfast. So sneaking as quietly out of the cream bedroom, yet again finding himself going into fantasy mode as he pictured himself trying to outsmart and slip past the security of some unknown foe. It didn't take long to make his way down the stairs. The ginger peeked his head around the corner, looking into the living room to see if his lover had decided to sleep on the sofa. After making sure the coast was clear-- no telling when and where the old bastard would show up-- he tiptoed to the kitchen watching out and making sure no floorboards creaked or groaned.

Finally, he was in the clear. Smiling triumphantly he flicked on the lights and dashed straight towards the fridge. Food. Oh God almighty, how he would KILL for some eggs and bacon right now. But knowing Hops, mother fucker wouldn't be providing him with his carnivorous cravings. But hey, eggs was still an option! He bent his knees to get a better look, and found himself smiling. There, on top of a glass container, was a piece of parchment with his name on it, done in the penmanship he had seen on his weekly paychecks. Apparently Hops wanted to make sure he had food, no matter when he woke up from his Z-catching.

“Well, ain't that nice of 'im.”

The happy highs quickly turned to a glare as he recalled that the homeowner couldn't cook for shit, even if his very life depended on it. Which meant that it was his lady friend that had prepared it. It actually took quite a bit of effort to stop himself from 'accidentally' getting up and 'accidentally' dropping the whole container in the trash. Whoops, hands slipped-- that's what he could have said. But instead, he opted for grumbling and biting his inner cheek as the redhead moved the meal aside in search for breakfast. 

Ah, here we go! Eggs! Hallelujah!

He pulled out the half dozen of eggs and dug around a little bit more, coming back with a bag of spinach, an onion, and a brick of cheese. Looks like it was omelet for breakfast!

He had to search a little to find wherever Hops kept the coffee. He had about sixteen hundred different tins of tea, from some ridiculously fancy ones to some pretty crappy little bagged ones. Vern didn’t know much about tea, but he knew that what Hops usually drank was loose and had to be strained out when the tea was poured.

Vern grinned to himself, pulling out one box in particular. If Hops woke up soon, he was getting some of this Horny Goat Weed stuff for breakfast. What the hell did that do? Vern decided he had to know, for science.

He chopped up the vegetables and threw them in a skillet to fry a little, before pouring whipped egg and milk all over it. Outside, the birds had been making noise for some while and Vern watched the sunrise while drinking a cup of coffee. His annoyance at having slept in was totally burnt off by now--all of his plans had pretty much been just keeping Hops company, so he didn’t miss much. Plus, now that he’d had such a killer night’s sleep, he felt pretty damn good. Stuff a meal into him and he’d be in business.

He ate his omelet standing up by the counter, having found the Sports section of yesterday’s paper. When he polished that off, he dug around a little more and came up with a box of strawberries--who knew the old guy had a sweet tooth? Vern chomped on a few for dessert before pouring himself another cup of coffee and going off in search of Hops. 

It was weird that he hadn’t bumped into him yet. He figured Hops to be an early riser, and it was already 5:30. 

And why hadn’t Hops slept in his bed? Vern wouldn’t have minded none--hell, it certainly wasn’t his, anyway. He would’ve been a little startled to wake up next to somebody, sure; but that hadn’t happened in years, actually. He felt a little bad, kicking Hops out of his own bed...but maybe that other bedroom was nicer than he knew.

He wandered up the steps, sipping his coffee and rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah, man...good night’s sleep, a hot cup of coffee, and a full stomach...nobody really needed anything more, as far as he was concerned. A smoke would’ve made it perfect, but Vern knew better than to light up indoors. Maybe he’d take a little while on the porch after he checked on his old man.

Vernon chose this time to drop his spy persona, not seeing the point in being Double-O-Centipede if he was actually in search for Mr. Grasshopper. Though, he didn't want to make too much of a racket either. So walking back up the stairs, he turned the opposite direction of the restroom where he figured the guest room was located. It had dawned on him how he still hadn't explored the whole house, after all the times he had been there. Well, he knew what he had to add to his checklist! Hops could have had fucking Narnia in one of his closets, and he wouldn't even have ever known! 

The Brooklyn born took another chug of his coffee, as he opened the door. The door squeaked a bit too loudly compared to the rest of the quiet home, and Vern almost jumped from the noise. Shit! Okay, another thing to add to his checklist regarding the old man-- oil the door joints. No reason his home should be acting up, when Hops was screwing a jack-of-all trades when it came to repairs. However, those were thoughts for other times. Manning up, he trudged on with a bit more caution. Little by little, he opened the door until his head could fit through, and looked to the sides. 

The first thing he noticed was the morning light hitting the navy blue walls in a faint glow. It was quite a contrast to the cream color of his lover's room that he was used to. The second he noticed was a large mirror replacing the headboard of the dark wooden bed. But third, and most importantly, he noticed the long lump under the queen sized grey and cream comforter. Vernon decided his curiosity was too much, even though he noted the lump didn't look large enough to fit two, he wanted to know if it was indeed his old bastard under the sheets. Bearing the creaking, he made his way deeper into the room. 

And he found himself letting go the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding, as he saw the olive-toned skin of the homeowner. A smile spread upon his face as he saw the peaceful expression on the Englishman. Damn, he was kinda precious when he slept wasn't he? Underneath that white mustache he could clearly see the curve of his lips as Mr. Grasshopper looked peaceful. Almost angelic, in a “old guy that still has that fuckable look to him” kind of way. Now there was a thought! Pounce on Hops and give him the best wake-up call of his damn life!

However, unfortunately for him, the older man began to stir in his sleep as if he could just feel Vernon's inappropriate thoughts. Always had to protest, didn't he? The redhead took the last gulp from his mug, before placing it down onto the nightstand. Okay, more genteel, then.

“Psst. Hops...”

Hops didn’t say anything, instead rubbing his face against his pillow a little, brows furrowing ever so slightly. He shifted, arms sliding underneath the covers. Vern caught a peak of his lover’s bare shoulder and wondered with a salacious little smirk if he wore anything to bed. 

“Hops,” he insisted.

Grasshopper made a little groaning noise and rolled over onto his back, one long hand sliding up to rub at his eyes and run his fingers through his hair. Bare arms! And was that a peep of Hop’s collarbone? Maybe that wake up call idea wasn’t a bad idea after all! “Mmm?”

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” Vern said in a low voice, sitting on the bed beside Hops’ hip. 

“Vernon?” Hops asked, reaching out to the bedside table for his monocle, his bad eye closed as he peered blearily for his eyeglass. Vern was quicker and caught it up first, fiddling with it in his fingers and grinning.

Hops gave up, rolling his eyes and letting his arm fall back to the bed. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Vern said noncommittally. “You sleep good?”

Mr. Grasshopper lifted his eyebrows dryly. “I slept well, thank you, Vernon. Are you feeling more rested?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Vern replied, squinting at him through the eyeglass. “‘specially since you decided not to wake me up.”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled a little. “Can you blame me?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. “You were clearly exhausted. I thought it was kinder by far to let you rest.”

“And to kick yourself outta your own bed?” Vern asked, taking a sip of coffee. “Ya take hospitality seriously, don’t’cha?”

“I scarcely imagine I could’ve done anything else,” he replied, shifting a little.

“Could've just hopped into bed with me, ya know. Hell, you've already fucked me in that bed a million times, might as well do some actual sleeping.”

Mr. Grasshopper was silent for a moment, as he looked away and tried sitting up. He took this time to debate on what to say. 'Does that mean you plan on staying the night more than this one rare occasion, ' he was tempted to ask. But ah, one must not get one's hope up. It wouldn't do, and he feared it might come out as begging rather than playful. Looking back at his lover, he instead kept his face as neutral as possible as he replied.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind for future reference. But for now, if I'm going to be up and about, I ask that you allow me to get up and get dressed. So if you wouldn't mind excusing yourself...”

Vernon smirked that delicious devilish smirk of his, as he stayed put.

“Ain't like it's nothing I haven't seen before. “

“I can't even comprehend what you were trying to say, but I can tell you are being difficult. My, you must have slept well if you have the energy for it.” Theodore leaned in closer to his young redheaded flame, exposing more of his bare chest, as he snatched his monocle from his lover's fingers. He took this moment to look at the clock resting on the nightstand. 5:47 a.m. A reasonable hour, he supposed.

Honestly, Vern was digging the view. He kind of liked to see his old man all mussed and naked and wearing his fancy eyepiece. He saw that Hops had brought his red robe with him; as much as he liked it, though, Vern made it his little private war to ensure that Hops wouldn’t put it on in the near future. Vern put a hand on the curve in the blanket that he figured was Hops’ hip, knowing that he wouldn’t mind if he was wrong, if he landed on anything in that general area. “Yeah, I slept real well,” Vern agreed. “Feeling all full of boundless energy.”

Mr. Grasshopper lifted an eyebrow at Vernon, somewhat surprised by the hand on his hip. The man couldn’t be serious--he didn’t really think that the morning was the right time for this sort of thing, even if he rather did like the warm pressure of Vernon’s hand on his hip. 

“Indeed?” Mr. Grasshopper asked, running his fingers through his hair again, neatening his mustache. “If you are so full of energy, do you suppose you would be willing to expend some of it this weekend?”

Vern gave him a dry look. “You tellin’ me to get lost?” he asked. Sometimes Hops just forgot how to speak plain goddamn English, so Vern figured he’d help him out.

Mr. Grasshopper balked. “Ah! Not at all. No, quite the opposite,” he said quickly. “Actually, I was hoping you would be willing to join me in viewing a production of Carmen. One of the better sopranos of the day will be singing the lead, and it occurred to me that perhaps you would enjoy the story, as it is quite full of action and passion, and the music is of course exquisite, and--”

“Yeah,” Vern said gruffly. “Yeah, all right, I’ll go.”

He honestly didn’t give a shit about Carmen, of course. You see one chichi musical, you’ve seen them all, in Vern’s opinion, but Hops was obviously excited about it and Vern had to admit that he was kinda flattered that Hops wanted him to come along. It was sorta sweet, actually, seeing how fast he was to tell Vern he wanted some company.

After all, it fell right in line with Vern’s Learn More About Hops mission. And his more unofficial Cheer Hops Up and Keep Him Company mission. 

Hops gave him one of those rare smiles of his and between that and his nakedness, Vern felt the sudden urge to call work and tell them to fuck off and just spend all day in bed with the guy. 

“Wonderful!” Hops said, covering the hand on his hip with one of his own. “I think you shall like it, Vernon, it is a masterpiece in its own right and I have confidence in this troupe. Perhaps we can have supper beforehand and make an evening of it. And...” Hops tilted his head a little, expression suddenly a little more serious. “Do you happen to have a suit, Vernon?”

“What, like your suits? Nah. Never needed one.”

Hops’ expression became almost predatory--Vern was sure he was a damn second away from licking his lips. “Perhaps you would permit me to be so forward as to procure suitable raiment for you?” he asked, looking Vern up and down. “I fear it would be a slight inconvenience to you--the necessity of fitting being what it is--but I confess I would find it to be an absolute pleasure.” 

“Uh,” Vernon didn't know what to say as he saw his older lover look him up and down with that hungry look in his eyes. The sunburnt man couldn't help but be drawn to it, curious and oh so turned on, and wonder just what sort of crazy fetish Hops had. Suits kink? Well, sure! Dress him up.

He just better give him that carnivorous look while he does it.

The redhead started speaking again. “Sure, go ahead. Just...nothing too frou-frou, ya here? Gotta make me look like sex-personified, a dreamboat, notta square.”

“I'm practically chafed by your words, sir. Are you implying that I don't know my way around a suit?”

“Naw,” the Brooklyn born said, cracking a grin to show he was teasing. “Though, I know for a fact ya know your way outta one.”

Mr. Grasshopper rolled his eyes. “Oh, how charming,” he murmured, reaching for his dressing gown. 

“Oh, hey, hold on there,” Vern said, planting a hand on the fabric and holding it in place. To do so, he had to lean across Hops’ legs. While he was there, Vern grinned and popped his coffee mug onto the end table, slithering up on top of a surprised and unsure Hops. “Speaking of havin’ you outta your suit...”

Mr. Grasshopper found himself on the receiving end of some amorous nuzzling. “I don’t think you can substantiate that very far, sir,” he said, smiling brightly. “You have no idea what I may or may not be wearing beneath the covers and I daresay you shall not be finding out.”

Vern grumbled against his neck, nibbling his skin a little. “Buzzkill.”

“Mm, my old university nickname,” Mr. Grasshopper smirked. “Pray give me the liberty to acquire my robe, Vernon, and allow me to make myself more presentable before I give you my full attention.”

Vern rolled off of him and watched Hops slide to the side, wrapping that robe around him. Damn, that looked good. What was it about red that just worked on this man? Vern wanted to pull that belt right off of the robe and put it to better use keeping Hops in bed instead of letting him out.

But it was not to be. Vern strutted out of there with a promise to return that evening to let Mr. Grasshopper whip out a measuring tape and pin him down to exact numbers. He left the old man drinking tea in the living room in one of his suits, all buttoned up nice and tidy. Vern smoked on his way to work, realizing only when he got there that he’d accomplished precisely nothing.

\--

Rabbit took another sip of his tea, eyes closed as he listened to the homeowner go on about his experiences with pupils. A week had transpired since the neighbors had met up once more for their thirst for conversation and company. The week before, though the teacher would admit had started out as awkward, had ended on a pleasant enough note. And the younger man happened to enjoy having someone who was willing to listen to his talk about his little sprouts, and hear stories about children from another person's encounters.

The fair haired man smirked as Mr. Grasshopper went on about how two of his students, the young ones of Mrs. Bonfamille O'Mally, had the habit of arguing during their lessons.

“Now, “ the olive-toned man said, “I am not one to frown at a healthy rivalry among siblings. However, these two have the habit of taking it too far and interrupting the instruction altogether. Why, once, I recall actually having to break up a fight as young Mr. Berlioz pounced on his sister! I still haven't the foggiest idea what she did to encourage it, but one can only imagine!”

“Oh, that's just how it is with student siblings, I've noticed. I've had a few relations in my classes, and they'll either act like there is no world outside of them...Or they'll constantly start trouble and pick fights. No in-betweens with them!”

Mr. Grasshopper shook his head thoughtfully. “I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like, to shepherd about so many little creatures for hours every day. I should surely lose my patience within a few minutes!”

Rabbit smiled cheerfully. “Well, yes, they can be more unruly than any other force on Earth,” he agreed, “but when you do connect with them...there’s just nothing like the light in them, you know? Watching them learn and enjoy learning is like seeing the sun coming out!”

“Ah, but the misbehavior,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a sigh. 

“Oh, but that doesn’t signify,” Rabbit insisted brightly. “It’s very obnoxious and very frustrating, but...that’s what children are like! It fades when you get in touch with them, and as they grow, too...or, well,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “sometimes it doesn’t.”

Mr. Grasshopper lifted his eyebrows. “This is perhaps true,” he agreed, reflecting on some of the very wild misbehavior he had come in contact with in a grown man, of late. 

“Perhaps true? Very true!” Rabbit insisted. “Why, just this week--” 

He stopped suddenly. Rabbit fidgeted a little and Mr. Grasshopper was hard-pressed not to smile. It had been nearly an hour since Mr. Rabbit had arrived, and so he supposed that it was not too early to begin to hear about his pale neighbor’s condition.

“Yes, sir?” Mr. Grasshopper asked solicitously, pouring more tea.

Rabbit laughed, a nervous little puff of a noise designed to release a little tension. “It’s been a rather wild week, I’m afraid.”

“Indeed?”

“Well, I did ask him to join me in the garden,” Rabbit began. 

The taller man's mustache twitched in amusement. “Did you now? How did that enterprise carry out?”

“It went...Well, that is...” Rabbit sighed in annoyance, though a small smirk betrayed him. “It was both beyond frustrating and the slightest bit endearing. Tigger was, well, he wasn't the biggest of help at first. And there were a few times I had to take over before he completely demolished my summer squash or pulled out seedling instead of weeds. However,” the man paused, looking away and smiling sweetly as he recollected the week's events. “Tigger did try his best to understand, and it only took a few tries before he was able to carry out simple tasks. And-- dare I say it?-- he was... he was positively adorable when he started to chatter on and on to the tomato plant I was beginning to give up on as a lost cause. I was planning on sending it to the compost pile, but he absolutely insisted I keep it and let him take care of it. And I'm surprised to say, whatever he's doing is working!”

“Very encouraging,” Mr. Grasshopper said, smoothing his mustache to hide a remarkably fond smile. He had not expected to take this kind of interest in these gentlemen. He had known people who had used a complaint as a way to praise or even to brag, and he wondered now, seeing Mr. Rabbit’s smirk, if the younger man didn’t do precisely that. “‘Adorable’...what praise, sir.”

Mr. Rabbit flushed suddenly and sat up straighter. “B-But that isn’t the end of it,” he insisted. “It would be fine if that were the end of it! But the other day--this will show you how absurd he is!--he arrived at the summer school. He had no business to be there! No business at all! But he came in and sat in the back row thirty minutes before the lunch hour! The children were totally distracted the entire time!”

“Oh dear,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a slight frown. “How unusual.”

“And then--after he’d distracted my sprouts so much, just by being there, he had the gall to come up to me after I dismissed them and ask me to lunch!” Rabbit said, in a tone that, however sure that it voiced a damning assertion, couldn’t quite prevent itself from also containing a note of excitement. Mr. Grasshopper heard it and could not help but feel a certain satisfaction.

“Of course you denied him,” Mr. Grasshopper said.

“Of course I did!” Rabbit replied. “But...well, he’d actually brought a packed lunch and insisted. Finally I ate a little to shut him up.”

Mr. Grasshopper adjusted his mustache again. This Mr. Tigger was a clever creature and no mistake at all. If he learned from his misstep in this rather ostentatious display of affection, it was conceivable that he would have Mr. Rabbit wrapped around his finger in little enough time. “Ah. Well, there you are,” he said mildly. “What do you make of it, Mr. Rabbit? Do you believe in any of the partiality towards you that I mentioned a week ago?”

“I, that is, well...” The teacher bit his bottom lip, as if to clamp down on his stammer. After taking a deep breath, the pale man tried again. “Well, I suppose he isn't as awful as I had previously stated--no. It's just... 'Why me?' I can't help but wonder. What made this crazy enthusiastic dolt decide I was the one he needed to bother? What made him choose me out of all the other people at work, the neighborhood...The whole universe, really. Life was easier before he came along. I was doing so well! I got used to being alone, to just focusing on my work and my garden. On my students. And then one day he and his merry band of scoundrels decide to move onto my block and trouble me at all hours of the day and night. And then when I thought I could escape him at work, I'm told we have a new member to the staff and it's HIM! At every turn life throws him into my personal space and he has to go and ruin everything. And all I can do is ask WHY!”

“Isn't that the philosophical question,” Theodore tried his best to hold back the warmth he felt radiating from himself, as he filled up both of their empty tea cups. The musician shook his head as he went on. “Why do fools fall in love? Why does anyone? We like who we like, Mr. Rabbit, we become smitten with the strangest of creatures. Sometimes we have things in common, practically twins spawned from some divine creator knowing we would like the company of one of our ilk. Yet...I think we are attracted the strongest to our polar opposites. To the individuals we can't help but admire, even as we scoff at their ways. And then one day...One day we wake up, Mr. Rabbit. We wake up and we see past the fog of our scorn at their differences as we realize they are the opposite side of our coin. Needed to keep balance in our lives, to keep us going. To have us flip and twirl in the air until we are a swirling mess and we can't tell who is who in the confusion, and we don't know what will happen until we land. Sometimes it's tails, and we lose and all we get is anger and hurt pride. “

Mr. Grasshopper paused to study his steaming brown drink, seeing the faint hints of green from his china. The olive-toned man couldn't help but think of the green pools of his lover's eyes, knowing his words were all meant for his himself more than for his neighbor. The musician closed his eyes, shielding himself from the sweet pain of his beloved Vernon Centipede. His voice was laced with all the affection he had for his gardener, as he carried on.

“But sometimes, Mr. Rabbit...Sometimes it lands on heads and you find yourself the luckiest man in the macrocosm, all because one single being so wonderful and so foreign decided you were worthy enough to have a little of their kindness and attention thrown your way. And I know no specimen, man nor woman, who doesn't go through their existence praying that they might have just the tiniest piece of that in their life.”

Rabbit looked at him for a moment, before clearing his throat. He shifted on the sofa, smiling a little. “Excuse me,” he murmured, crossing one leg over the other with a certain smugness. “But, just to be sure, are we talking about me, or you?”

Mr. Grasshopper was pulled up short, mid-sip and mid-reflection. He coughed thickly. “I--I--I beg--I beg your pardon!” he spluttered. “What on earth do you mean, sir?”

“Oh,” Rabbit said, stirring his tea and tilting his head slightly. “I’m sure it’s nothing...just, well, you seem very...invested in what you’re saying.”

“Well, yes, I think it’s quite important,” Mr. Grasshopper said, flustered. He felt himself blushing darkly. “Perhaps I was a little florid--”

“A bit like a love letter?” Rabbit asked, gleeful.

“Ah, perhaps, yes, but I--well, I--”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Rabbit went on, “but I don’t like to keep the conversation just on me. Tell me about your ‘close friend,’ Mr. Grasshopper.”

Mr. Grasshopper adjusted his tie. “Really, Mr. Rabbit, I don’t mean to distract from the point.”

“No, no,” he said. “Tigger is...well, I’ve gone over Tigger. He’s frustrating and impossible, but I fear I may not have been rightly attentive to your interests.”

“Oh, I assure you--”

“Tell me about your gardener,” Rabbit insisted, grinning.

Mr. Grasshopper nearly startled out of chair. “I--” He shook his head and took off his monocle, polishing it quickly. “Well, yes, I have an...assignation, but really, I must apologize, I lost my focus. Pardon, please--about Mr. Tigger. What do you want to do about him?”

“I'll handle Tigger how I handle him-- just trying not to go crazy, as always.” Rabbit, however, wasn't finished with finding out his own answers. “Now, I must admit, I'm more interested in how you plan on handling your, ah, 'friendship'.” In retrospect, the teacher was understanding why the older man was angered so much by Rabbit's accusations during the competition...Not that he was planning on reminding anyone of that embarrassment. For both of their sakes. 

Theodore was silent as he thought over what he should say. On one hand, it wasn't a matter he felt the most comfortable speaking about. Vernon was the most private of topics, and the heart of the matter was a bit on the side not meant for conversation over tea. However, on the other hand... Wouldn't it be rude to not say a word, when Mr. Grasshopper himself had been inquiring so much about the younger man's affairs? Wouldn't it be unjust? Signs of a bad host?

The darker man took another sip of his drink to tarry out his stifled thoughts, the ticking and tocking of his grandfather clock reminding him of the seconds away from his mortification. Mr. Grasshopper, with some mental encouragement, spoke again slowly. 

“Mr. Centipede... Is a complicated individual.”

Rabbit quietly smiled and stirred his tea. Mr. Grasshopper shifted rather awkwardly, placing his tea cup on the table. He drummed his fingers against his leg for a moment, before crossing his ankles thoughtfully.

“We became lovers after the gardening contest, although I flatter myself to say that we had been friends for some while before that,” he said, thinking yet again of his ill-inspired Bach performance a year ago. He frowned and stroked his moustache, drawing his legs up closer to his body, crossing them at his knees. “We...occasionally have a meal together and I do very much enjoy his company, both intellectually and...physically.”

He shifted again. 

“I suppose there isn’t very much to say,” he murmured, trying to get it out. It wasn’t something he’d even said aloud yet--Mrs. Ladybug knew, the way she knew all his moods and all the little tells that showed what he was experiencing. 

But she had never needed him to speak to know what was in his heart. And here he was, telling this to a nearly perfect stranger.

He shrugged, aping rather ineffectively at nonchalance. “I love him,” he said, his voice staggering under the weight of the ‘I.’ He cleared his throat. “I am in love with him,” he clarified, forcibly restraining himself from fidgeting and grinding the words out with some difficulty. “And it is not reciprocated.”

Rabbit’s expression shifted from a gleefully teasing smile to a concerned, examining gaze. “Are you sure? Does he have any idea?”

Mr. Grasshopper huffed out a dark laugh. “Oh, if there is any merciful God, Ver--Mr. Centipede never shall know,” he said. “I dread it terribly. Mr. Centipede is a loyal, tenacious, honest, good-hearted man with a rather larger capacity for kindness and feeling than he believes himself to possess. However, he is...” He took a slow, deep breath. “He is a creature of the moment,” he said ineloquently. “And any feeling on my part--but particularly this feeling--would be repulsive to him.”

Rabbit sat back in his seat, frowning. How sad! He watched Mr. Grasshopper take off his eyeglass and polish it, visibly uncomfortable and terribly unhappy about what he’d just said. “Well, you certainly can’t let it go on,” he said gently.

Mr. Grasshopper nearly dropped his monocle at hearing this. Catching himself, and preventing it, his head snapped up in a quick jerk, nearly giving himself whiplash in the process. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your, uh, affairs with your gardener. This can't be a healthy relationship if it's enough to cause you to go from such high spirits to something more grim. I mean,” Rabbit looked away, not really the most experienced when it came to thing relating to the heart. However, he did know a thing or two about danger-- and keeping oneself out of it! “If you asked for my opinion, in the long run it seems like this sort of relationship will just harm the both of you. I don't...ah, that is...I don't know nor care to know about the...you know...physical aspect of your...'friendship.' But! If he's really not emotionally invested in the same way, don't you think it's better for you two to break off ties? Let him find a suitable partner like himself-- that is, someone who only wants...Ahem. Yes. It lets him go off and frolic how he wishes, and it leaves you time to heal and find your own suitable attachment. Someone who is also looking for an actual relationship and not some...um, 'acts of the flesh.' Or whatever phrasing you would rather use.”

Mr. Grasshopper felt himself embarrassed and shifted a little in his seat. It was such an ugly thought, but... “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, of course, you’re right.”

“I am?” Rabbit asked, uncertain himself of his advice. He cleared his throat. “Why, yes, of course I am.”

“I’ve asked him to go to the opera with me, if you can believe it,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a bleak smile. “I’ve purchased a suit for him, even. The money is no problem, mind, and I’m very happy to be able to make a gift to him, but...yes, this must be the end of it,” he said, nodding. 

“Certainly. Unrequited love is terrible! No sense in holding on if it shall only hurt!”

Mr. Grasshopper couldn’t help but think of Mr. Tigger’s tenacity and what it had won him, however small, in Rabbit’s esteem. But that was a wholly different situation! He’d known the heartbreak of an unrequited passion before, or even an unequal passion, and he’d surely had to let them go before they broke him in half. It had hurt so terribly at the time, but look at him now! He hardly thought about his former lovers.

Granted, what he’d felt with them had never, ever been even close to what he felt for Vernon. The very thought of his beloved--truly, beloved, for even in this pale and unrequited adoration Theodore was willing to say that Vernon was one of the great loves of his life--fading into the darkness of forgotten moments made him ache in his chest and his throat. 

He coughed quietly, shaking his head. “Yes, of course,” he repeated. “To the opera, indeed. I’ve thrown myself at his feet, for heaven’s sake, I’m mad as a March hare because of him, and he surely cannot find any appeal in a man behaving like a lovesick swain,” he said with an unhappy little laugh.

Rabbit smiled weakly. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Grasshopper said, taking back his cup of tea from the end table. “You are very right. I should’ve known it myself, but it’s hard to tell oneself these sad and ugly things. But I appreciate you advising me so, sir--I consider it a very kind act of friendship,” he said earnestly, with a rather more real and fond smile.

Rabbit, startled by the sentiment behind the homeowner's words, found himself blushing under the other man's smile. After giving a quick cough into his delicate hand to collect himself, the teacher gave his own awkward beam as he replied.

“Oh, well, yes. It's certainly no problem. No problem at all! Especially considering...”

The lanky man need not hear more, as he nodded his head showing he understood. He took a sip of his tea, as he saw in amusement that Rabbit did the same. After letting the earl grey hit his senses in a pleasant and calming way, Mr. Grasshopper thought it due to change the topic. Both were relieved as Mr. Grasshopper listened to the garden enthusiast start up a conversation about his findings on how to grow the perfect pea pods in only a few generations of breeding. Admittedly, not the most interesting of topics...But Theodore welcomed the distraction lest he dwell on his upcoming plans to say farewell to his redheaded flame for good...

–

Madame Fay Mere was a woman about making dreams come true. Coming from a long line of tailors, it felt only natural that after her father's retirement she took over the family business. And now as a woman in her years, long past the passings of her mother and father, and their mothers and fathers, and so on and so forth, the shop had been and running for over two hundred years and still faithfully serving the people of Anthropolis. And as long as Madame Mere had her way, 'Bibbidi's' was going to stay that way.

And speaking of faithfully serving, Fay Mere chuckled as she stood next to one of her most cherished customers. While the woman was, admittedly, used to serving the prom crowd and wedding parties, Mr. Grasshopper was one to still appreciate a good suit diurnally. And with it came the joy of knowing such a handsome and distinguished man would put her work to good use. 

However, this was a different occasion, it seemed! The plump pale woman was delighted when she received a call from the olive-toned musician, asking to place in a new order. She had his measurements memorized, after making so many suits for him, so it wasn't much of a bother to put something together. Yet, she was pleasantly surprised when he spoke of sizes and figures so foreign from his tall and slim frame! Oh, a gift! How marvelous! The perfect commission and something to make sure she put the extra amount of affection into-- because even over the phone Madame Fay could tell this was a man her beloved customer clearly cared for. 

Friend? Relation? Fay could only wonder. How exciting! From the shape of the suit he must be a well-made man, and from the color palettes Mr. Grasshopper described, he must be a handsome one!

When Mr. Grasshopper stepped in with a young man in tow, Fay had to put her eyeglasses on to get a look at this fellow. She gave him a considering look, smiling slightly. Yes, red hair, green eyes, and so much swagger...the conversation she’d had with Mr. Grasshopper about colors and textures would definitely pay off!

“Hello, my dears!” she said brightly. “Come along, come along--we must get you fitted!”

“Hops,” the younger man said in a low tone, giving Mr. Grasshopper a sidelong glance.

Mr. Grasshopper smiled at him and pushed him towards Fay without a word. 

Fay hustled him into her studio, giving him the suit to try on. “Just a moment, Mr. Grasshopper, you wait out here and we’ll see what we need to do!”

“Very well,” said the older man, taking a seat on the other side of the partition dividing up the studio.

“Hops,” the young man said rather more loudly.

“Is that doubt in your voice?” Fay teased, smiling. She handed the young man the suit. “Here, let’s get you dressed...”

“Don’t doubt Madame Mere, Vernon, she is a genius,” Mr. Grasshopper said from around the partition. 

Fay preened, turning away as Vernon put on the trousers but coming back to help him with the shirt and jacket. Not bad! The cut was nice and close, showing the strength of his shoulders and length of his arms. All that was left were the hems. Fay didn’t usually tailor premade suits, but this would work just right.

Vernon whistled lowly. “Well, damn,” he said, grinning rakishly at his reflection. Fay nodded approvingly. “Hey, Hops, how much is this going for, man? This is slick!”

“It’s a pleasure, Vernon,” Mr. Grasshopper said simply. Fay’s ears perked up. He sounded so fond! 

“Step up,” Fay instructed him to hop onto the stool before the mirror. She settled down and began pinning up the edges of the trousers. “You look very handsome, young man! We ought to make you a few more suits.”

“Uh, I don't know about that.” Vern Centipede felt awkward as was reminded just how short for dough he was in life. He made enough to live by, sure, enough to play around with some. But he sure as hell knew he didn't have the cash to pay for something like the black suit he was wearing. How was he supposed to commission any others?

Small guilt washed over him as he realized what money Hops must have been spending on him for this date. It was bad enough he was going to great lengths to make sure he was properly dressed...But that wasn't even factoring in the opera and the dinner! Shit! Worst off was that he wasn't going to be able to even try to pay off that food bill...

The redhead was startled out of his thoughts as he heard the tailor whispering loud enough for only Vernon to hear.

“Shh, stop frowning dear. You'll make the suit wrinkle along with you.” The white haired woman smiled, “Besides, it won't do to feel doleful or sorry. I can tell Mr. Grasshopper is looking forward to treating you to something nice.” 

“Yeah?” Vern decided he liked this woman, even if he wasn't completely comfortable with how handsy she was with his body. But hey, came with the job, right? The sunburnt man smirked as he looked at himself in the mirror once more. He couldn't help but imagine himself in his Double-O-Centipede persona as he began to make his sexy-spy faces at his reflection. Okay, it might not have been his scene...But damn if he didn't work the look!

Madame Mere was an expert in her craft, and it didn't seem to take too long before she was done.

“There we go! Fit as can be! Oh, Mr. Grasshopper, you will be quite impressed by the handsome devil you brought to me!”

“May I come in?” Hops asked, and Vern felt a certain giddy grin coming over his face. If he just got that predatory look again, he’d be a happy man! He hopped off of the stool and tugged on the hem of his jacket.

“Definitely!” Madame Mere said, toddling back towards the entrance to the partition and taking a good look at her handiwork. “I think you’ll be pleased!”

Hops stepped around the partition and almost paused in midstep, surprised. Vern grinned as that light appeared in Hops’ eyes again, and no amount of adjusting his monocle and smoothing his mustache would hide it. He stuck one hand in one of his new pockets and smirked, smoothing back his hair. 

“Hey,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Whaddaya think?”

Mr. Grasshopper stared, all approval for what was before him. Vernon was a handsome man and the suit only made that all the clearer. The shoulders of the suit were smooth and sharp, emphasizing the firm boldness of his character. It was close-cut, lingering lovingly against every curve and plane of Vernon’s figure. The red necktie around his throat was bold and dashing, a flash of silk against his skin that made him look just as sharp and fiery as Mr. Grasshopper knew him to be. 

His heart pounded in his chest. Oh, this man was the Devil incarnate, he truly was. Handsome and dashing and obviously pleased with him, about to go eat an excellent meal and watch a magnificent work of music with him. He had to cut it off. He had to cut it off as soon as possible. He couldn’t live this way, nearly dead from a heart attack every time Vernon smiled at him.

He needed to say something. He knew something was expected of him.

He immediately turned to Madame Mere. “How much would about six or seven more of these cost?” he said, the first even remotely reasonable thing in his mind. 

The good lady laughed and Mr. Grasshopper needed to close his eyes just for an instant. “That is,” he said, turning to look at Vernon. “You look very handsome indeed.”

Vern looked smug as he quoted a Mr. Bonds: “'We aim to please.' Gotta say, though, your excitement might be a lil' too much. I ain't really got the dope on places that calls for penguin suits and the like. Or reasons I would wear 'em.”

The olive-toned man, however, could think up many reasons why his paramour should have a suit for every day of the week-- no, surely he would need them daily! And surely multiple ones during the same day, for every room in his house. Had to go with the furniture, after all.

Mr. Grasshopper's white mustache twitched in his amusement as he realized how absurd he was being. He was trying to separate himself from the man, remember? Vernon was a venom that worked itself through his body, trying to stop his heart at every turn. And it was only natural to try and purge harmful chemicals from one's body and mind. 

Still...it was hard to keep that in mind, when his senses were set ablaze just by looking upon his redheaded flame. The lanky man smiled, trying his best to hold back the love he felt for the younger man. “No, I suppose you have a point Vernon. However, one can never have too many suits.” 

“We can discuss those purchases at a later date. Thank you for putting this together so expeditiously; I'm sure every patron will have the hardest of times keeping their focus on the performance, and attempt to stare. Phenomenal work.”

“Oh, Mr. Grasshopper, don't make this old woman blush!” She gently put a hand on his arm, showing affection to her long time client. “It was a pleasure. And I must say, your friend looks more handsome in person than I could have imagined!”

Vernon wasn't quite sure how to feel about the two older folks gushing over him as if he wasn't even in the room...But man, did it go straight to his ego! And he easily caught the sideways glances his old man was throwing his way, as they went over the bill. The sunburnt man tried to divert his focus, before he found out just how much the bastard was paying for the outfit. Vern smirked again as his reflection caught his attention once more. Fixing his tie he couldn't hope but wonder if ol' Hops will try to steal from his playbook again and snatch him up and do some tongue tangos...

Vernon Centipede would be a god damn liar if he said he wasn't looking forward to the weekend's date.


	9. Wanted

Mr. Grasshopper settled into his seat with a fine and delightful sense of anticipation. He’d been very deliberate in avoiding Bizet for a week, keeping himself ripe and ready to enjoy this in all its beauty. 

Vernon slid into the seat to his left, a rather more well-dressed mirror of their Sunday evening a week ago. Mr. Grasshopper smiled at the thought of it, restraining the urge to take Vernon’s hand. 

Their meal had been delicious, a long, decadent supper shared over candlelight in one of the better restaurants in town. Vernon had been charming, as always, and they’d talked about mutual acquaintances and Vernon’s childhood, and even a little bit about Mr. Grasshopper’s dancing ability. He’d deftly avoided any further questions, bringing his interest back around to modern matters.

Now, glancing down at the orchestra, Mr. Grasshopper recognized a few familiar faces and smiled to himself. 

“Damn. Place is nice! So d’ya think they’ll let me smoke?” Vern asked. 

“Ah, that seems doubtful,” Mr. Grasshopper smiled. “I cannot possibly recommend it. But if your taste for trouble can be allayed by mere alcohol, that can be accomplished by intermission. I may join you--I have found that champagne goes magnificently with passionate opera.”

“Y’don’t say,” Vern grinned. He looked around. “So what’s the story here? Passionate opera, huh?”

The older man smirked as he looked into his lover's green eyes, as he tried to explain a bit of the plot without spoiling it for the sharply dressed gardener.

“Passionate, yes. Though, if you were expecting a floral depiction of romance, then you will be sadly mistaken.”

“Yeah? What, people get murdered or somethin'?”

“Actually, yes. It's quite an ordeal.”

Vernon looked down at the stage, wondering what the hell kind of show Hops took him too. In all honesty, the sunburnt man kind of assumed all musicals, or whatever the hell people wanted to call them--he just knew there was music and a plot!--were about singing and dancing and falling in love. Which, in all honesty, didn't appeal to Vern too much. It was one thing when he was being hypnotized by Hops shaking about...It was another when it was some old stiff he didn't even know.

But death? Action, with a touch of sex? Sign the man up!

Mr. Centipede turned back to his old man. “So this is pretty much suppose to be ancient version of an action flick? Like what they did before movies? Huh. Learn somethin' new every day.”

“Oh, hush.” Mr. Grasshopper's words were laced with amusement as he could easily tell his date was teasing. “There were many great forms of entertainment before the film era. But in a sense, I do suppose you are correct in a way--there has always been a medium that takes the male aggressive desires and puts them in a form the current generation can comprehend. Art, like all things human, develop with society. “ A murmur was heard throughout the theater as the lights began to dim. “But ah! I'm rambling on, and the show is about to start!”

Vern looked around, hearing the noise of the orchestra beginning to tune up a little, that funny noise of mingled tones all jumbling together. People quieted down in the opera house, although they didn’t quite go silent. The lights of the house dimmed slightly, keeping away from being entirely dark. The heavy red curtains of the stage remained closed, even as the orchestra began an enthusiastic overture. 

Hops immediately relaxed beside him, the old man stretching his legs out forward and settling into his seat as the orchestra played. Vern tried to get comfy, hoping for a little action early in the show but not holding out much hope.

The curtains opened upon a city square and Vern snorted to himself to see that one of a buildings was a cigarette factory. Hey, not bad. Above the stage, a screen scrolled along words in English, and Vern realized that it was a translation of what the singers were singing--he wasn’t even sure what language this was. 

A little back and forth happened on the stage and Vern snuggled deeper into his chair, wondering if he could fall asleep without snoring and breaking the mood. By the time his eyes were closing, there was the sudden noise of a ringing bell and he jerked in his seat, looking down to see a bunch of girls pouring out of the cigarette factory. Now that was a little more like it.

When the next song ended, Vern found himself with Hops’ fingertips lightly touching his wrist. His old man leaned close, breathing his words very softly in Vern’s ear. “Carmen shall sing her habanera on the untamable nature of love,” he said, no voice, just air. “I’m sure you’ll recognize it. I will want to know your opinion afterwards.”

Vern shuddered a little--damn! He knew it was about the least likely thing in the world, to hope that Hops would try something with him in the box, especially when Vern was in a new suit, but when his old man got close like that, well, Vern couldn’t help but like it. He sat up a little straighter, looking down at the stage. 

A pretty woman in a red dress was beginning to sing, and sure enough Vern recognized the tune. Sure, it had been parodied every time he’d heard it, but he knew it and that was enough to perk his interest. He glanced at the English translation on the screen now and then, grinning to see the refrain.

“Love is a gypsy's child,  
it has never, ever, known a law;  
love me not, then I love you;  
if I love you, you'd best beware!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. This chick was all right--at least she was telling it like it was! What was it with people getting gooey over people who didn’t love them back? And nothing brought a person more trouble than whatever ‘love’ came to them when it wasn’t the real thing.

Vernon tried to pay attention to the stage again, as the Carmen dame rushed back inside the building with the other women. Well, there goes the only likable relatable character, he couldn't help but think. The shorter man leaned back into his chair, getting comfortable as some soldier came on talking about some broad his mother wanted him to marry. Ouch. Poor sap. He knew that pressure. Not that his ma was currently pushing women on him. But there had been many a time where she would off-handedly mention how some friend's daughter was single, or how she would like a grandson of her own. Not enough to be the reason he isn't home more often...but enough to scare the shit out of him all the same. One time is a time too many!

The girls from the factory returned, rushing outside in fear. This piqued the redhead's interest as he saw the main lady returned to the stage. Squinting to read the print on the translation, his eyes shot open wide as he read. Well damn! Carmen stabbed a bitch! Oh, he liked her. He really, really did. Crazy motherfucker had some spunk. And he continued to be amused as she went on to seduce the guy that had been on the stage earlier-- Vernon dubbed him 'Momma's Boy', seeing as he couldn't seem to care enough to remember his real name. 

Vern Centipede was jolted out of the opera again, as he felt the drummings of long nimble fingers on the armrest. Hops was, once again, lost in the melody as his body just had to contribute to it. The sharp dressed gardener couldn't help but be reminded of the last date, as he smirked at the memory. Again, no hanky panky was going to go down when they were sharing a box with two other couples...But it didn't mean he couldn't touch the guy, right? No harm in that.

And even if there was, Vernon didn't give a damn as he placed his coarse hands on top of Mr. Grasshopper's. The sunburnt man rubbed his thumb over the smooth knuckles, as he kept his head forward-- pretending to be enthralled by whatever the hell was happening on stage. (Carmen just tripped Momma's Boy! Niiice.) Vern looked to the side, keeping his head forward, as he looked at his old man from the corner of his eyes. He actually felt his heart grow warm as he saw a flutter of a smile on ol' Hop's face. Damn, he could be kinda cute at times.

The house went dark as the act ended and Vern was a little surprised as Hops hit his hand against his leg instead of taking back the hand Vern had possession of to clap normally. Vern rubbed his knuckles again with a little grin. 

The place lit up again on a new scene and Vern watched, kind of bored, as Carmen and two other chicks flirted with some drunk guys in a bar. Some musical chord must’ve hit Hops, because he shifted over again to lean close to Vern’s head.

His hand twisted under Vern’s, long fingers touching against the back of Vern’s hand, their palms pressed together. 

“I believe I know the gentleman who will play Escamillo,” Hops said in that same breathy whisper. As he spoke, his lips brushed against Vern’s ear and Vern had to wonder if Hops wasn’t doing this on purpose. “You shall surely recognize this tune. I think you shall like him.”

Honestly, Vern didn’t care too much about these schlubs when Hops was up on him whispering in his ear like that, but he tried to focus. Hops knew the guy? All right, give him a shot.

Some goofy-dressed swaggering guy came out on stage, surrounded by a crowd, and began to sing. Vern recognized the tune almost immediately. That was even more famous than the other one! Little kids on the playground sang a bunch of different versions of that one! Vern smiled a little, glancing up at screen to see what the guy was talking about. He was a brawler! Not bad.

On his hand, Hops was doing something odd with his fingers. He would touch against Vern’s skin with an irregular drumming gesture, sometimes tapping and sometimes holding a position with only a few fingers. Vern glanced down after a second or two and grinned: Hops was playing him like a violin! He snorted to himself quietly. Maybe he’d use that later tonight, tell Hops he was pretty bold, fingering him in an opera box.

He glanced up at his old man to see how he was enjoying the show.

Hops was sitting there, eyes on the stage, smiling that gorgeous smile of his that Vern had only ever seen coming out when he was making music. His eyes were bright and direct, body relaxed, and he very slightly shifted with the music. Every now and then something would happen musically and he’d close his eyes, making this incredible expression that told the whole fucking world how good that note or tone made him feel. At first Vern thought it was a sexual thing--because damn if it wasn’t sexy!--but when Hops opened his eyes and smiled in that gorgeous way of his, Vern realized what it was.

Hops might be craving someone to talk to, to touch, and to love up on, a real human someone, but he was sure as hell already in love. Vern didn’t get it, but that was the only thing it could be! The guy was in love with music, just about any music. All the signs were there: he surrounded himself with it all the time and he played it with all his heart and soul, he only let himself off that leash of his when he was making music (and sometimes when he was screwing Vern), and when he couldn’t have it, he pined and wasted away. 

Hops was in love! 

That was the only way Vern's mind could comprehend; it was that same look his Ma had over his Pops. It was that look that spoke of undying affection and craving to be together. It was that pure happiness that came across Mr. Grasshopper's as his cheeks glowed from just being with the one he loved, no matter what form it took. 

It was the weirdest and yet most beautiful thing the gardener had ever seen. It was weird to him, because he couldn't quite wrap his mind around how someone could feel so passionate towards something you couldn't touch. Towards something that was just there, existing yet not. Something you could apparently love with the intensity that Hops had, even though the notes could never love you back. And yet... There was this charm to the notion. It was like caring for someone he never met-- like how Vernon could say with certainty he cared for his father, even though they had not hugged, he had not been there to wish him good luck at his games, nor had he been there to help guide him into manhood. Yet, all the while, the redhead knew he felt love for his Pops. 

Vernon wondered, being dragged back to Theodore as he felt him shift in the seat next to him, what it would be like for Hops to love another like that. Like the way he so obviously adored music. He wondered if it was even possible, as he recalled how the white haired man was referred to as “being of the theatrical bent.” Was it possible for the man to have that much room for affection in his blood-pumper? Vern doubted it, in all honesty. He had come to think that there were only one true loves, and if anything was true and pure...It was definitely how Hops felt towards the stage.

The shorter man couldn't help but feel that music was one lucky dame to have snatched up a catch like him.

As that thought filtered down from his brain and come and settle in his chest, Vern felt something sort of low and melancholy fit in him. Well, if Hops was happy this way...

Only Vern didn’t really think he was.

Suddenly Hops was right there again, having torn himself away from his own enjoyment of the music to speak to him. “You shall love this,” he murmured, fingertips lightly brushing Vern’s hand. “I had nearly forgotten that this contains an exotic dance.”

Vern fought the urge to chase Hops’ retreat and finally capture those whispering lips with his own. Damn the box. There were a couple of other couples sitting near them and Vern knew Hops’ never give him the green light for anything--but damn! The guy had to stop turning him on like this!

An exotic dance, huh? Vern watched the stage, grinning as Carmen began to give Momma’s Boy a little lap dance. This chick was nuts! Vern liked her a lot...she was kind of skanky, sure, but she knew what she wanted--even if it was a little twerp like Momma’s Boy--and she went for it! He’d been expecting a bunch of shit about swooning maidens and singing fat ladies, but on the whole this was pretty good.

A fight scene closely followed some exchange of flowers or whatever and Vern watched with interest, annoyed that it didn’t come to much of anything. Beside him, Hops tapped his fingers and sometimes chased piano notes down the scale of his leg, perfectly happy with the world in general. Meeting up with his sweetheart, the thing he loved more than anything else. 

Vern couldn’t get why Hops would want to have company for this--it seemed like he was perfectly in love with this opera and wanted to be with it. Maybe Vern oughta give them some alone time? 

He sighed as Carmen and Momma’s Boy hurried offstage and the curtain fell. There was some loud applause--Hops took back his hand to clap properly--and the lights went up. As people began to talk again, Hops shook himself a little, obviously coming out of whatever trance the music had put him in. That was fine. Vern didn’t necessarily want to deal with Hops while he was all gooey over an opera like this. 

When he was done packing up that love and it wasn’t just radiating off of him anymore, he turned to look at Vern.

Vern went cold.

At first he thought--he hoped--that it was just the music, still, that it was too fresh in Hops’ memory and that he was coming down from that high. But, shit, the way he looked at Vern and couldn’t keep that smile off of his face...the way his eyes lit up when they locked on him and he went to touch Vern’s hand again! Vern felt his heart try to jump up his throat, staring as that something Hops kept behind his eyes burned brighter than it had for the music, just from looking at him!

Shit! Fuck! Shit!

“What do you think, Vernon?” Hops asked, that tilt on his name that Vern had thought was so hot suddenly sounding deep and warm and adoring, like Hops just loved having it on his lips. “Did you enjoy the first part?”

“YEAH,” Vern said, much more loudly than he’d intended. He pulled his hand away from Hops’ and cleared his throat. “Yeah! S’fine. S’good.”

Hops dimmed a little, looking at Vernon with closer, sharper eyes. That light didn’t go out. It stayed there, hovering back just out of reach--not that Vern would touch it with a ten-foot pole now! “The libretto wasn’t difficult? It’s quite a good idea to have an English translation, I think...”

“YEAH,” Vern yelped again, shaking his head. “Yeah, uh, I don’t, uh, even know what language that was.”

“French,” Hops said. “With smatterings of Spanish.” He frowned a little. “Are you feeling quite well, Vernon? You’re terribly pale.”

Hops was moving like he was about to put his hand on Vern’s forehead and Vern jumped. No! He didn’t know what he was going to do if Hops touched him--it was all right before, but that was when Vern hadn’t known the guy was fucking in love with him! 

“I’m good!” Vern said, running the back of his own hand across his forehead. “Just, uh, thirsty, y’know, and I oughta take a leak.”

Hops withdrew his hand and rolled his eyes a little. “I suppose it was too much, to ask for an entire evening of culture and manners,” he teased. “But I believe I did promise you champagne, didn’t I?” He stood up, smoothing that suit of his down. “I shall meet you back here shortly, then.” Hops smiled at him with that thin little not-smile and left the box.

Leaving the shorter man to freak the fuck out on his own.

Vernon sat in his chair for a minute, before deciding the box felt like it was closing in on him. Okay, this was too much. Even though he had meant it as a throwaway comment, the Brooklyn born man decided leaving the overpoweringly red room was just what he needed. Too red...Too red-- fuck, he never thought he'd think those words!

Weaving through the people, old rich stiffs putting on their best pearls and finest suits to show off to each other as they talked about all sorts of topics, Vern finally found the restrooms. He was pretty relieved to see the place had urinals-- he wasn't sure what the upper elite pissed in, after all-- even though the place was a little too crowded for his taste. The sunburnt man decided he would go to the farthest end, away from all the people, as he zipped down his fly to relieve himself.

The gardener felt himself begin to relax as his tensed muscles began to unwind. Once the flow stopped he gave himself a courtesy shake before tucking himself back in and heading to the sink to wash his hands. By the time he added soap and began to lather, the other patrons had removed themselves-- leaving Vernon alone to sort out his thoughts.

Okay...What now?

Hops was in love with him. This he knew. This he can plainly see now, like a big slap to his face. Shit, how long had this been going on? Does Hops know? Wait, yeah, of course he knows. The old bastard was a smart guy, he probably realized it some time ago. But the question was still: How. Fucking. Long. 

Vern felt guilt as he knew that he had no reason to be upset. How was he suppose to judge how anyone felt? You feel how you feel. But...damn. Poor Hops. So hopelessly lovestruck. And the redhead had never even suspected it! He thought they had just mutual attraction and a really close...uh, friendship. Friends-with-benefits deal, anyway, and the gardener had been digging it. Sex, somebody to chill with...Who wouldn't want that? And he thought, like Vern, he was fulfilling the same needs-- if not to also kill some of his loneliness. 

But love, man, LOVE.

“Okay, yeah, he's in love. Got that...But what's the plan NOW, Vern?”

Plan? Who the fuck has plans? He wasn't a plan man. He was a go-with-the-flow man. Just going with what felt good, right, and natural. Vern was a charge in first, ask questions later kind of guy... And right now what felt natural was to ditch the fuck out of there, escaping through the backdoor! Wait, no. NO. That was NOT natural. That was being a goddamn coward. And Vernon Centipede was many things...But he was no fucking white liver creep. Hops would be worried, probably even heartbroken, and the sunburnt man felt sick by the very thought. So no, running was out of the question.

Vern splashed some water on his face, making sure not to get any on his suit. Looking at his reflection, he realized how pale he had become and how bloodshot his eyes were. He really needed to pull himself together if he was going to face Mr. Grasshopper again-- which he would have to, because, remember, he was no chicken. But, oh geeze, Hops...

It dawned on him that he wasn't angry. He wasn't angry that his old man had fallen head over heels for him. He had been furious with girls before for stuff like this, though it may have been in part because he didn't believe the sincerity behind their words. But Hops never told him, but Vern could SEE it. And they weren't sugar coated lies. Hell, Vernon didn't think his older lover even expected him to love him back. Which...Wow, that was really really sad. Vern's heart sunk once more as he thought of his favorite musician and the state he must have been in.

“Poor Hops...”

So he wasn't angry. He was unnerved, sure, but that was because it hit him out of fucking nowhere! But now that he was trying to think it over, the alarm was slipping away leading the way to other emotions he couldn't even figure out the names of. He felt like there was such a big gap between his brain and his feelings, and there was some sort of block keeping him from understanding what was going on. He felt guilt, but it wasn't guilt. He felt warmth, but it wasn't warmth. He felt this heavy feeling that settled in his stomach and made him him feel queasy and yet fluttery at the same time. 

God damn this was all fucking confusing.

Vern heard the warning bell go off, alerting the people to start heading back to their seats. The sunburnt man took a deep breath, at least the color was returning and he was starting to look like his normal self. So drying off his hands the redhead made his way back to the box. He had no idea what to do about the situation...But Vern was a go with the flow guy, he reminded himself, so just go back to your date and see what happens. Maybe after getting that drink Hops promised, he'll be able to sort things out.

Alcohol always made things easier.

Vern dodged this way and that to get out of the way of the people moving back to their seats. If he’d been a little more attentive, he would’ve noticed that he got quite a few admiring looks in his sharp suit--but he was much too preoccupied even to glance at the people around him.

Hops was waiting for him when he returned, sitting in his seat with a pair of champagne glasses. His old man looked happy and totally at ease, twirling one glass in his long fingers and looking out into the opera house, as if the world hadn’t been suddenly and irrevocably turned on its head. Vern wanted to just look at the man without Hops’ knowing, just to be able to see him in the brand new way he couldn’t help but see him, now that he knew. Had he really seen this man before, had he really kissed this stranger? Had he really been in his bed and seen every part of his body, and not known? 

He was such a dumbfuck! He thought he knew something about this man, thought he was sharp because he knew Hops had been some kind of dancer, and that his parents were rich freaks, and that he felt music as much as he heard it.

He didn’t know the least damn thing! He hadn’t known why Hops had bought him a suit or had given him his bed for a night or maybe had given him a job in the first place! He didn’t know what possessed the antisocial old bastard to keep an eye on Rabbit or dance in his living room with widows or treat James with such incredible fondness. He didn’t know why Tenebre liked him. And he sure as shit didn’t know why he’d been alone for so many years of his life and then pinned himself of Vernon Fucking Centipede.

He had to know. He itched to know! Tomorrow he was going to drag the kid aside and come up with some pretext to find out what the hell was going on.

Hops must’ve sensed him somehow, because he turned and did that twitchy mustache thing when he spotted Vern. Vern felt like he was being speared through by those dark eyes, though somehow he knew Hops was looking at him just the same way he’d ever looked at him before. Hops didn’t know he knew. 

“Ah,” Hops said, “here you are.” He pulled his legs in to let Vern slide into his seat and, when he was settled, gave Vern a glass. “Scarcely time enough for a toast. It would seem only appropriate, don’t you agree?”

Vern stared. “Sure,” he said. 

Hops looked at his own glass of bubbly with a thoughtful expression. “Here now,” he murmured, looking back at Vern with a mischievous smile in his eyes. “To the habanera,” he said. “May we forever adore the plumage of the rebellious bird,” he added, making a reference that Vern only scarcely remembered from the first act that was now a thousand years ago. He clinked his glass gently against Vern’s and sipped his champagne.

Vern took a mouthful of the champagne, wondering a little if it was just a hallucination that the bubbles seemed to have little dollar signs in them. Here he was--not penniless but definitely not rich, not the brightest bulb in the box, totally unartistic, handsome enough but probably not the best-looking cat that, if there’d been any justice in the world, would’ve been chasing Hops’ tail. And Hops loved him. 

Shock was wearing off. Vern still felt awkward, yeah, and he nearly bolted out of his skin as Hops’ hand covered his during the third act. But he was spinning his wheels over it and it was becoming something he could almost understand. It was becoming a fact of life, the great unspoken non-secret.

Carmen two-timed Momma’s Boy, fickle bitch she was, even though nothing had changed about her and Vern knew it was her right to go where she wanted to go. Bored with Momma’s Boy (and perhaps Vern couldn’t really disagree with her, since Momma’s Boy was a little slip of nothing), she ran off with someone new and interesting and Vern swallowed thickly. When was he going to get bored? Would he? 

“I must admit I have an unpopular opinion,” Hops whispered in Vern’s ear. Knowing what Hops felt, Vern still wasn’t certain if Hops was intentionally touching him. Damn it! Hops was the same as ever! How could he not feel the way the earth had shifted so completely? How could he not say it, how could he not need to express it somehow? He was the same handsome, well-dressed icicle Vern would’ve sworn he knew every part of just a few hours ago!

“I rather appreciate the fact that she goes off with him,” Hops continued. “It’s so much better that she goes with someone who makes her happy. Ah, you shall enjoy the next few moments...”

A part of Vern couldn't help but ache as if the older man had stabbed him in the heart. Was that how he felt about him? Was Hops just waiting his time until Vern grew bored and ran off with someone else, like a fickle bitch, leaving him alone to deal with his shattered remains? And the problem was...Was the musician far off with those assumptions? Shit! 

Vernon put his attention back onto the stage, not so sure about his lover's words. The redhead hadn't been enjoying much of any of the opera since intermission. However, feeling like he needed the distraction, for even the tiniest moment, Vern looked on. Carmen was now with the pleading Momma's Boy, unafraid and a snarky skank as always, as he tried to win her back. With her head held high, full of pride and smug, she throws down the ring the lover had given her. Turning from Momma's Boy, Carmen turns to leave and enter the arena, reuniting with her new flame.

Vern's eyes shot open wide as he witnessed what happened next. Momma's Boy, growing the first pair of balls he had during the whole musical, as he springs forward and stabs the beautiful woman in the back. 

“God damn!”

The redhead heard laughter and some gasps as he realized he actually shouted that out loud. Oh god, did he just do that? Well shit! Shit! Fuck it all, this was just not his night! Sinking into his seat, as if to slink away from having people realize it was him, he felt a hand touch his arm, causing him to flinch.

“Shh, it's quite all right, Vernon.”

Hops...comforting him, though he could see just how amused the olive-toned man was. It was obvious he had hoped for a reaction, though he did not expect the one the gardener gave him. Leaning in closer, he rubbed his thumb up and down Vern Centipede's forceps, attempting to calm down the man he loved. At first it only made things worse. Oh god, he didn't need this on top of everything else. Vernon did his best to stay focused on the stage, as he saw Momma's Boy crying over his love. Fucker loved Carmen so much, and then he fuckin' stabs her! What kind of bullshit was that?! 

But Mr. Grasshopper continued his ministrations, his soft feathery breath warming Vern's neck. Hops...there was a man who loved properly. There was a man that loved so deeply he would rather hurt himself than stab the one he cherished. He may have made the same mistake and fell for a 'rebellious bird', yet... he was willing to withstand the heartbreak as long as he can just to be with them, and would free the gardener if and when Vern decided he was done...

There was a reason he was with the musician and not with an asshole like Momma's Boy...

The curtain fell on Momma’s Boy singing about being a little bitch and the house lights went up. The applause in the house was thunderous, especially when the cast came out to take a bow. When Carmen, Momma’s Boy, and the toreador came out, Hops gave him a quick squeeze and stood up with the rest of the crowd, honoring the performers with a standing ovation. Vern remained seated, clapping in a pretty obligated manner.

When the cast disappeared again, Hops sat back down and smiled at him. “Well? What do you think?” Hops asked, picking his champagne glass up and fidgeting with it in his fingers. 

“S’okay,” Vern said. He wanted to stop there, but forced himself on, avoiding Hops’ gaze. “What the fuck’s up with Momma’s Boy, though?”

“Pardon?” Hops asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m sure I don’t understand.”

“Momma’s Boy. The one who stabbed her,” Vern explained.

Hops covered his mouth with one hand. “José,” he said, covering a smile. “He does go quite mad, doesn’t he? Perfectly appalling.”

“I mean, yeah, Carmen’s being a skank, but she shouldn’t have died. ”

“I agreed entirely,” Hops replied. “José is a monster towards the end. Carmen was happy with Escamillo...that should be enough.” He smiled. “But can you see why it is a marvel of music?”

Vern smiled slightly. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. S’catchy, at least.”

“Catchy?” Hops echoed, adjusting his monocle. “My good man, it’s a work of genius!”

Vern was thrown, yet again staggered by the fact that Hops wasn’t acting at all differently. He looked at Vern like he expected some kind of response that Vern wasn’t up to providing. 

“Eh, all right, yeah,” Vern said. 

Hops frowned suddenly. “Are you quite certain you aren’t ill, Vernon?” he asked again. “I hope you are not very exhausted still. You seem...”

“Seem what?” Vern asked sharply.

“You’re not really like yourself,” Hops said. He reached his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. He flicked it open, eyebrows lifted. “Ah! Well, if you are tired, it is scarcely surprising,” he said. “It’s nearly midnight. Perhaps it’s time to go.”

Vern nodded, rubbing his forehead a little. “...yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Hops dropped off the glasses at the commissary on the way out and smiled to some people Vern didn’t recognize. Several of them had instruments and he realized that it must be the orchestra. Maybe the Escamillo guy was wandering around somewhere. Hops waved a hand with a cheerful smile to them as they passed, keeping close to Vern’s side as they walked out of the building and waved down a taxi.

\--

Mr. Grasshopper paused on his own porch, wondering what it would be the best thing to do. Vernon was clearly exhausted, of course--possibly ill. He was very worried about his lover, who had been so lively and in such good spirits before the performance but became so strange around the intermission. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

He yearned to provide Vernon with a bed for the night, at least so that he could keep an eye on him in the event that he was sickly.

But he thought to himself of Mr. Rabbit’s advice and the knowledge that he must begin to let Vernon go. Wrapping the man up in his bed and keeping him within easy grasp would do nothing to further that goal. Vernon didn’t look even a quarter as ill as he had earlier in the week when he’d stumbled into Mr. Grasshopper’s home, he decided that Vernon could likely take care of himself in the event that he really was sick.

He turned to his beloved with a slight smile, hearing the quiet noise of the taxi that idled at the curb. “Well,” he said, “thank you so much for the pleasant evening, Vernon. I cherished your company.”

Vernon shifted awkwardly. In the ordinary course of things, Mr. Grasshopper would’ve expected Vernon to suggest that they have a nightcap. When he didn’t now, not even to give Mr. Grasshopper the chance to protest that Vernon ought to rest, he felt his heart begin the inevitable descent back into stillness and coolness. Perhaps it truly was time for Mr. Grasshopper to begin letting him go! He hadn’t noticed Vernon eyeing anyone else while at the opera, but he knew that there were many beautiful women present at the performance and that he had himself been much too wrapped up in the performance himself to pay much attention to whatever or whomever Vernon might’ve been preoccupied with.

The thought that they were already reaching the end of their assignation made him ache a little, but Mr. Grasshopper smiled anyway. Here--in addition to a few lovely memories to keep him warm at night, he would also have the memory of a wonderful evening of music with this man, which was more than he thought he would take away when they’d started out.

“Yeah,” Vernon said at last.

“I would invite you in for a cup of coffee,” Mr. Grasshopper said, “but I’m afraid I have a rather early class tomorrow, and rehearsal in the afternoon...”

“Yeah, no, I gotcha,” Vern said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Got some shit to do myself. Uh, thanks for everything, Hops. This was fun.”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled, amazed by the handsome, well-dressed creature on his porch. He itched to reknot Vernon’s tie, which he had undone in the taxi. He took a very nice, very upright suit and make it look perfectly rakish and rumpled, and if Vernon had been in a warmer mood, Mr. Grasshopper would take him up on the implied invitation to contribute to the suit’s dishevelment. “I assure you it was entirely my pleasure,” he said, hands behind his back to restrain the urge to run his fingers down Vernon’s lapel. “I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it,” he added, although he had the suspicion that Vernon was merely humoring him. 

“Seriously, I did, don’t get all sarcastic on me,” Vernon grumbled, hands stuffed in his pockets and face glowering a little.

Mr. Grasshopper held up both hands placatingly. “Guilty as charged,” he said rather frankly, smiling a little. “Thank you very much for a wonderful night.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too,” Vernon said. 

Mr. Grasshopper felt the urge to kiss him, but held back, kept in place by a bizarre sense of hesitation. “I...well, good night, Vernon. If I do not see you until Sunday, I shall see you then.”

“Right,” Vernon said.

Mr. Grasshopper shuffled a little on the porch for a moment before he decided that they were needlessly keeping the taxi driver and determined that if Vernon did not want to be kissed, he could tell Mr. Grasshopper himself.

He leaned down and hesitated for just a moment. Vernon made no move to avoid him, so he pressed his lips to Vernon’s mouth and gave him a slow, brief kiss. Vernon responded after a moment or two, moving with him for an instant, even cupping the back of his head before Mr. Grasshopper withdrew.

“Sleep well, Vernon,” Mr. Grasshopper said, withdrawing behind his front door and closing it before leaning on the very panel against which he’d enjoyed Vernon’s lust less than a week ago. How much had changed! He knew that the separation was beginning--Vernon’s coldness could mean only that. The thought that they had already had their last night together made his heart thrash and he held a hand over it, listening to the sound of the taxi pulling away from the curb.

He stood straight and went to make himself a cup of tea before bed. The rift had begun and it was not only good but necessary.

Mr. Grasshopper only hoped that they would have a few more chances to make some memories that he could take with him.


	10. For Your Eyes Only

Vernon Centipede growled as he stared at the computer screen. For hours he and James had been down at the local library, a block or so away from the center, going through article after article. Miss Spider had merely smiled and waved them off, as she playfully told her son to make sure Mr. Centipede stayed out of trouble. She had late classes that evening, so if it kept James entertained and busy for a few hours, then better still. 

It had been a long two weeks since the redhead had learned of Mr. Grasshopper's love for him, and Vernon didn't quite understand what in the world was going on. The day after the date he had met up with the kid with tenacity, even more urgent to find out anything he could about his old man. It had started with them tag teaming and doing google searches, in between Vern's actual work, and only ended up with frustration after going through hundreds of pages and tabs. Days of this just added to his growing bad mood. 

And, to make things worse, it seemed like every time the sunburnt man had tried to visit Hops, he had either been too busy, not at home, or surrounded by company. There had been one time he had been working and Rabbit, the asshole, had been there to have one of their tea parties...and it seemed like whenever Vern had stopped to try and initiate conversation with his lover, that bitch ass motherfucking Rabbit would distract the man away from it! Finally it had gotten to the point he had just immediately packed up after he was finished, and left without saying a word to Mr. Grasshopper. What was the point? Couldn't get a fucking word in anyway. Though...Vern did look over his shoulder as he left the yard, with hope in his heart that his musician would call for him back. Not getting anything just made the sinking heavy feeling in the redhead's chest turn to anger as he stomped away.

Vernon took that fury and put it towards his search. 

“God dammit,” he growled under his breath as he felt like he was getting nowhere. Why was this so hard? There was something they were missing, he knew that. Something that connect the dancing part of Hops' identity with the current handsome musician. Something, there was SOMETHING. Just...what?

James Henry Trotter, always a sensitive young man, put a hand on the janitor's arm in comfort. Vern couldn't help but be reminded of Mr. Grasshopper yet again. “Mr. Centipede,” the boy said with a frown, “are you all right? Should we stop?”

Vern wanted to growl, but instead he sat back in his seat and sighed. “Nah, kid,” he said, craving a smoke. “Just, uh...just kinda tired.”

He was. He was sick and fucking tired of everything. He still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Hops, but he knew that whatever it was was fucking bullshit. The old man didn’t even look like being busy made him happy. Sure, he always kind of looked faintly unhappy--and now Vern knew why that was--but when he spotted his old man nowadays, he looked drawn and pale and sad. Vern hadn’t realized how used he’d gotten to the way Hops looked when he was cheerful and feeling good until suddenly he wasn’t, anymore.

They’d fucked since the night at the opera, though only once. Vern wasn’t totally sure what to do with Hops at the time, but his lover had wanted him and Vern would’ve been a total fucking liar to pretend he hadn’t wanted Hops right back. They’d gone to bed and Vern had tried to go about it like it was business as usual, but he could just feel how Hops, in every touch and every kiss and every buck of his hips, was showing how he loved him. Vern couldn’t get over it and just screw the guy. Oh, that didn’t mean the sex was bad--quite the opposite--but it felt so fucking wrong to have about two minutes of pillow talk and give Hops a kiss before leaving. He felt like a complete fucking dog flagging down the bus, and he couldn’t sleep for a long while that night.

In the days immediately after Carmen, Vern had tried to talk himself down. Maybe he was hallucinating a little. After all, Hops didn’t act any different. It had to just be the influence of the music. That technically encouraging but oddly disappointing thought soothed Vern only for a few days until he met Hops again on a Sunday and saw all the obvious little tells that Hops couldn’t have known he was giving that told how much he loved Vern.

And it looked like it was so much. Hops wore the same expression when he looked at Vern that he’d seen in his Ma when she looked at that old picture of his Pops. But then why, if Hops was so fucking in love with him, was he avoiding him?!

James gave him a concerned look. “Maybe we should take a break,” he said. 

Vern’s eyes were hurting from looking at a glowing screen for so long and he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, all right. C’mon, kid, let’s get some air.”

Vern and the kid sat out on one of the benches outside the library. Vern lit up and sat carefully downwind of the kid to make sure his smoke wouldn’t bug him. 

“Well, I know a little about his parents,” James said, trying to be positive. “And that’s very interesting! I want to ask him about that...I think he’ll talk to me about it, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Vern said. “I could tell ya a little about ‘em. They were pretty strange.” It took an effort of will to watch his language around the kid, but he wasn’t going to be the one to teach James to swear just yet. He had a feeling that Tenebre wanted to get him swearing in French before he got tainted with English. 

James sighed. “It’s so very odd,” the boy said thoughtfully. “I really might’ve thought he had more in his life. But...well, maybe he was telling the truth. We really haven’t found anything.”

Vern shook his head. “No, kid, there’s something else to him,” he said, certain right down to his bones. “And now I wanna know as bad as you do. We’re going to crack this case, I guarantee ya.”

James smiled a little. “Well, all right,” he said. “The project is due in a week. If we can’t find anything until then, I’ll write about Mum.”

“Right,” Vern said, and made to himself a resolution: tomorrow, he was talking this out with Tenebre. She was a pain in his ass but she’d had Hops’ number and put him on the right track for that. She might get him on the right track for this, too.

The janitor looked at his watch, as he realized how late it was getting. He should probably be getting the kid back to Spider before she started to worry. Not that Vern would ever do anything to put the boy in harms way, and he liked to think ol' Dollface knew that...But it was hard to tell how mothers would react to this sort of thing. His own Ma had a grizzly bear streak in her, and he did not want to find out if there was any venom to Tenebre, considering her last name. Besides, in a couple more hours the library was going to be closed anyway. Might as well pack up and head back to the community center.

“Come on, kid, let's get you back. Your ma is probably wrapping things up now, anyway.” Mr. Centipede got up off of the wooden bench, feeling much older than his years. Fucking stress was turning him into an old man. Distracted himself from his bad back, the ginger adjusted his cap as he smiled to try and encourage James-- as much as himself. “Don't go growing grey hairs over this, ya hear? We'll get this mystery solved, and you'll be an expert on ol' Long Legs, better than the man even knows himself.”

James beamed back, as the walked down the street. In no time at all he had dropped the kid off. After leaving an off-handed comment about having lunch with the woman the next day, Tenebre raising an arched brow at this, Vern said his good-byes as he hopped on the next bus and made his way to his apartment. He only hoped sleep would come easily.

\--

Georges Hautecourt spilled more tea than he drank, his hands tremulous as much with old age as with exuberance for life generally, but he had a handkerchief across his lap for that very purpose and Mr. Grasshopper noted that he was careful to avoid getting it on the upholstery. 

“Ah, my boy,” Georges said, shaking his head. “You needn’t hide it from me, I can see it plain as day!” he cried. 

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Grasshopper asked wearily.

“You’re broken hearted, my boy!” Georges exclaimed. He reached across the coffee table to clap Mr. Grasshopper on the shoulder and he jerked slightly with the impact. “Perfectly natural, my lad, perfectly natural--but you just can’t pine away!”

Mr. Grasshopper gave him a thin smile. He supposed that was very true. He was broken hearted, or getting there, anyway--he felt like his heart was between a pair of clamps and every day twisted the handle a little further and squeezed him a little closer towards his breaking point.

Company and distraction had been his only weapons against the agony of withdrawal, and they were scraps against the icy wind that roared through his empty chest. He wanted nothing more than to call Vernon up and beg him to come over, to make desperate, passionate love to him, to simply sit beside him and listen to him talk in that rough, wonderful voice of his about whatever on earth he chose. He wanted the merest glimpse of the man, the barest whiff of his cigar smoke, even the briefest brush of his clothing against Vernon’s. 

He didn’t know why it was happening so fast, how he had managed to bore Vernon so quickly, but he tried not to think about it. If allowed, he’d wait for hours in his home just on the chance that Vernon might think to come by, and that was no way to live when he knew that sooner or later Vernon would leave. He tried to avoid him, to prolong that inevitable goodbye, and the longer he did it the sharper his beloved’s venom sang in his veins. 

Everyone he met asked him if he was sick. He was not. But when he looked in the mirror, he could see why they thought that.

He looked old, suddenly, very old, exhausted, thin, a faintly desperate, unsatisfied animal urge lurking somewhere in his eyes and mouth. He recognized the look--it was a sibling of the one he’d worn when he’d been forced to abandon his violin for a week. But then he’d had his requiems, other music, the knowledge that someday soon he and his beloved would be reunited.

This was worse. He knew that the separation had begun, that he was becoming nothing more than one of the shadows that formed the wicked curve of Vernon’s seductive smirk, that he was joining all the other sense-memories in the man’s fingertips, indistinguishable from the rest. When he’d been without his violin, he’d had miserable music to play, but now, here, all he had were the perfectly meaningless smiles he wore in company and the hateful, shameful touch of his own hands at night, his soul and body desperately craving a man he had not seen in days that felt like months.

Withdrawal was hard. It always was. Soon he’d be back to what he was, calm and cold and with only a few dead and broken parts inside. He’d reduce his capacity and find a way to be happy with the love he already had, as he had been, once.

(No he wouldn’t, whispered something. No, he’d carry this huge emptiness around for the rest of his life and he’d pace endlessly through the empty chambers of his heart with nothing but the echo of his own footsteps for company until one day he died and everything would be finally, perfectly still.)

Mrs. Ladybug was terribly worried about him. He didn’t blame her. God forbid he ever see her in such a state. Even Mr. Rabbit, who had provided the very correct and very kind advice he was following looked startled to see how much he’d changed and had asked if he weren’t ill. His colleagues at the orchestra became nervous about him, sure that he would die while onstage. All his Mozart and all his love songs came out so wrong and so faltering lately, none worse than his Bach, which was a pathetic and wingless thing that left his violin only to drop from the air and die on the floor without ever having flown.

But he was fine. He was detoxing. It was a necessary progression. It was better that he did it now, when he was only as in love as he was, for he was falling deeper every day, no matter how he scrambled to get back up, and if Vernon were here he would only sink further.

Georges handed him a manila folder. “Now, here you are, my man,” he said gently. “Take a look through here--it’s a bevy of beauties! All of them perfectly available...all of them women of distinction and refinement! I vouch for them each with all my heart...any one would be a great catch and likely think you to be much the same for them!”

Mr. Grasshopper put his hands up in protest, trying to wave it off. 

“Ah, yes, I'm sure they are all beautiful women unlike anything I will ever see in this life or the next. However, Mr. Hautecourt, I don't think--”

“Ah, no need to think! Just give them a look over, it'll be just the cure you need!”

Grabbing the folder, the lanky man set it aside with a sigh. With with eyes looking as droopy and aged as he currently felt, the musician picked up his tea cup as he tried his best not to notice the green patterns in the brown pool-- lest he be reminded of Vernon once more. Sighing, he took a sip before carrying on.

“If I might be a bit on the frank side, sir... I do believe my heart is just not up to seeking other romances at this time. Still in mourning, as you cleverly have figured out and said a moment ago. I believe I just need some time...to heal. Time to heal before I even consider any other indulgences and romances.”

Not exactly a lie, he was in a terrible state. Too much so to even look at anyone else in any way close to an amorous folly. Yet... He did not think time would heal this wound. Not this time... Vernon was his only chance at one last happiness, and it had seemed that duration was now settled and done for. 

Georges startled the taller man from his thoughts, as he placed a hand over Mr. Grasshopper's in comfort. He gave a sad smile. 

“All right, my boy. I understand. If time is what you need, then time is what you'll get. But keep your chin up! Things will get better, mark my words! Only good can come to the likes of you!”

The olive-toned musician sincerely hoped that the universe agreed.

\--

James and Vern were at an impasse.

Vern was drinking a cup of coffee with an almighty scowl on his face. He should’ve visited the old man yesterday, he thought. When he’d gotten home, he’d just stomped around, obsessing. A few times he’d made the move to go back out and take the bus down to Milton Heights but every time he’d thrown himself back into his chair, growling at the thought of getting down there and finding an empty house. 

He was pissed off, he was horny, and what was more, he missed his old man. He was weirdly worried about whether or not the old man was eating and whether he was happy, neither of which, in all likelihood, he was. Vern couldn’t understand why, if Hops was in love with him, he was being so aloof. It had to hurt like hell, all the more because neither of them really wanted to be apart, as Vern well knew for himself and could only assume for Hops.

That was it, Vern said to himself. Tonight, he was getting back in that house and he was going to stay there the whole night long. Hops was going to eat something and Vern was going to wipe that hangdog look of his right off of his face and make him smile one way or another, whatever way he had to do it. 

He didn’t look too sharply at any of that, of course. He couldn’t help but know what Hops felt for him and though he didn’t want to hurt the man any by leading him on, his gut told him that it was way worse to leave Hops alone than it was to let him love Vern. He’d been alone much too long already. And anyway, it wasn’t so bad to have Hops in love with him...his old man seemed to know what was up and how to love someone. After all, wasn’t he smart enough not to say anything, to just let it all be?

But until then there was a whole day of fucking enigmatic research about Hops, who by all appearances was already part way a ghost.

James sighed, disappointed. “I can’t figure out what we’re missing,” he said, perking up enough to smile as little old Madame Glowworm tottered into the room, making herself a cup of tea. “I feel like we’ve overturned every rock but we haven’t found nearly anything.”

Vern grumbled, agreeing. “The guy’s practically a mirage,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “Who thought that Ol’ Theodore Grasshopper would be the one to be spooky like this?”

Madame Glowworm spun around. “Theo Hopper?” she asked, suddenly wide-eyed and brightly smiling. “Do you know him? He’s not been about in years and years!”

Mr. Centipede jumped, nearly splashing his coffee all about. Instead, he hissed as he felt it burn the roof of his mouth. Mumbling under his breath, he turned his focus on the crazed old woman, glaring.

“What was that, old bat?”

“You two were talking about Theo Hopper, the sensational dancer, weren't you? Why, back when I was a young performer, myself, he was all the craze!” She frowned as she recalled how long the dashing dancer had been missing from the limelight, “I do believe it's been nearly forty years! Such a shame; best legs in town, he had. A heartthrob in every sense of the word.”

Vern and James stared at her. Vern felt a wild grin threatening to break out on his face.

“Theo Hopper?” James said loudly and clearly for the benefit of the slightly deaf old woman. “We were talking about Mr. Grasshopper, down the street!”

“Who, dear?” Madame Glowworm asked. 

“Mr. Theodore Grasshopper!” 

“Oh, yes, the old gentleman,” Madame Glowworm said, much less interested. “So sorry, dear, I thought you were talking about Theo! Such a dashing figure. You ought to look him up, you know, plenty to learn about dancing to please the young ladies!”

Vern couldn’t even contain his huge smile. “Wait a minute, though,” he said. “A dancer?”

“Oh my goodness, such a dancer!” Madame Glowworm grinned. “He was on the dance circuit with a young Frenchwoman. Such a rakish gentleman he was! Every woman was mad about him, all dark haired and long-legged as he was...and just the nicest thing, even though he had a smile like the Devil himself. I remember he kissed my hand and bought me a drink once and I thought I’d surely faint! Their shows were always sold out--they could each play an instrument but the real performance was the way they moved together!”

Vern laughed aloud. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, kid?” he asked James.

James lifted his eyebrows. “You think so?” he asked. “The names are kind of similar...”

“Here, I gotta do my shift, but you go and look up that name. See what you can find,” Vern said. “I’m gonna wanna see what you come up with!” In fact, he positively itched! He was kind of curious about what Hops had looked like as a young guy, and this was his chance! If he was really as hot as all that, well...!

“All right!” agreed James, hopping down from his seat. “Tell Mum I said hello!”

“Will do!” Vern promised. He threw back the last of his scalding coffee and gave Madame Glowworm a grin. “Thanks, Glow, ya just cracked the case.”

“I did what?” she asked. Vern smirked and washed his cup in the lounge sink. 

“You’re just my Bond girl, is all,” he said more loudly.

“Do you know, I was, once,” Madame Glowworm said brightly. “We ought to screen the film sometime!”

The image of Madame Glowworm scantily clad didn’t much appeal to Vern, of course. He had a marked preference to see only one of his bosses undressed and it had been far too long since he’d seen that, anyway.

He gave her a little salute. “All right, Glow, see ya on the other side,” he said, brimming with enthusiasm as he went to go mop up the multipurpose room.

\--

Vern was the giddiest he had been in what felt like the longest of times. He felt like he was walking on air as he mopped and cleaned the building. If anyone saw him, they would say he was dancing with the mops and brooms, rather than doing any sort of proper sanitation work. But damn, could you blame him? Work was the thing farthest from his mind as he tried to imagine a young Theo Hopper-- tall, dark and handsome in every sense of the word-- as he created pictures of his old man leading ladies around the place. Shit, professional? That explained a lot! Though, that begged the question...why was he hiding it? Why keep something so big and dear so secret? He didn't understand why anyone would try and suppress the news that they were some hotshot famous dancer-- especially if the redhead went by what he saw of the olive-toned man, himself. Hell, if he had the moves, he would be letting everyone know! He'd be show off at every turn! Damn, what that would have done to his already healthy ego!

But...that was the thing wasn't it? He still didn't know the real Hops. He still didn't know a damn thing. Yeah, mystery was solved on his past. Yes, he now knew what he had been keeping under lock and key, that cloud in his eyes as he tried to lead the conversation away from the topic...But he didn't know why. Vern didn't understand what made him choose to give up an amazing career; he didn't know what made him choose music over the physical arts.

And he sure as damn well knew he didn't know why he had been pushed away so suddenly and fiercely. 

The janitor nearly dropped his mop as he was stopped dead in his tracks. The kid had his info, James could finish up his project and get that A he so rightfully deserved... But Vernon felt himself go cold as he realized, after all that hard work, he had went absolutely nowhere. He was still stuck in that same place of not knowing a goddamn thing. And it surprised him how much that hurt. Not really his pride, though he supposed that factor in somewhere into the mix, but... It was more like a sudden sap of his energy, as his heart ached and throbbed with a pain he didn't think he had ever felt before. Holy shit, he was actually worried that his devil may care attitude about his health had caught up to him, as he thought he was having a heart attack. He felt woozy, he felt sick, he felt...

“Vern, vous êtes pâle. Are you all right?”

The redhead nearly jumped out of his skin for what felt like the second time that day, as he whipped around the fastest he had ever gone. He grabbed at his chest, as he realized it was only Miss Spider, noticeably worried. She walked closer, heels clacking on his halfway cleaned floor, as he found his voice.

“Shit, Tenebre! Fuckin' gonna give a guy a heart attack! Don't sneak up on me like that!”

She rolled her eyes, hands settling on her hips and mouth curved in a slight smile. “Obviously you are fine,” she drawled. But taking a second look at him, she frowned again. “You are well, are you not?”

“Yeah, shit, I’m fine, or I will be as soon as I can breathe again,” he groused. “You ready to go?”

“Oui. And you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They walked down the street, smoking, to a little cafe Vern knew Tenebre liked. The owners spoke French and she placed their orders in her own little purr, the tone of her voice lowering and changing slightly, every word sounding like a kiss. Vern might not know French himself, but he sure as hell liked listening to it. She’d mentioned that Hops knew French, right? When they got back together--and he was going to go get the man, he reminded himself, against the pang in his chest--he’d have to look into that a little.

They sat down at a little round table and Vern smiled as the waiter brought them an ashtray. Weren’t a lot of places you could still smoke in these days. No wonder Tenebre liked it here.

“I must quit,” she admitted, breathing out a silvery plume of smoke. “It’s a bad influence for James.”

“Parenthood,” Vern grinned.

“Tell me what you have learned,” she said, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on her hands. 

Vern grumbled suddenly, his mood deflating again. “I don’t even fucking know, Tenebre. He’s rich? He’s talented? He had a thousand women in love with him when he was younger? He loves me?”

Tenebre put her hands down and leaned forward, a smile touching her lips. “He loves you?” she echoed, eyes bright.

“Yeah, he--” Vern pulled himself up short and looked at her. “No,” he said slowly.

Tenebre bit her lower lip briefly, grinning a little. 

“No,” Vern groaned. “Who else?”

“I don’t know what you mean--”

“Who else knows, woman?” Vern asked firmly.

She smiled, draping her napkin across her lap. “Certainly I,” she said. “And Mrs. Ladybug has known almost the whole year long. I believe James suspects, as well, but he is admirably discreet--”

“A YEAR,” Vern asked, in a strangled hollar. He lowered his voice. “Shit! Why didn’t anyone fuckin’ tell me?”

Tenebre sipped her glass of water. “It wasn’t our place to say, Commodore. Besides, you know now, and that is what it most important.”

Vern grumbled into his hands. “God fuckin’ damn it. Yeah, he’s in love with me, poor bastard.”

“Poor?” Tenebre asked. She smiled as the waiter placed their meals on the table. “Nothing of the sort. He is not at all well at the moment, perhaps.”

Vern waved a hand, stabbing his steak with a knife. “He’s avoiding me, man! I don’t even fucking know why!”

“No, of course not,” Tenebre sighed. 

“Don’t start that again, Spider, just fuckin’ tell me what’s up!”

The pale woman was silent as she chewed her steak tartare with her cool elegance, her honey eyes clouding in her silence. Vernon, still sore from his thoughts of Hops, couldn't help but note that it was a look he had been receiving a lot over the few weeks. It was a look that told the redhead that Mr. Grasshopper was thinking about just how much he should disclose. Damn, and now the woman was going to do it too! Why won't people just be fucking straight with him for once!

“Tenebre...”

“You are far too stupid for you own good, I hope you are knowing this.” Miss Spider brushed her hair behind her ear, before carrying on. “Mais avec tous vos défauts...You are a sweet man. So I will tell you a secret about love that shall help you with Monsieur Grasshopper. “

The woman took a sip of her wine, faint red glistening her black painted lips as she continued.

“Love is, comment vous dire...'messy business.' When one loves, they do not hold back, no matter how hard they will try. Mais l'amour, it is also toxic when held too long. Kept inside and not shared with another. Eventually love, which once was a pleasure, will ronger at a man's insides until he is eaten away to nothing.” Miss Spider looked Vern in the eyes, “Monsieur Grasshopper, however, est intelligent. He is knowing this, and is cutting off his addiction. He is believing that loving you is folie, and that you do not care enough.”

“What?” Vern asked, feeling like he was bellowing although his voice only came out in a hiss. “It isn’t a mistake! It’s not a problem!”

Tenebre looked like she wanted to throw something at him. “Oh, is it not?” she asked, with bitter sarcasm. “It does not keep you up at night, Centipede? It does not make you feel as if you are dying? You do not watch your every word and touch and dread the nights you will spend alone?”

Vern shifted guiltily and poked at his meal.

“No, of course not!” Tenebre answered herself. “Of course it is not a problem for you, because he does not force from you anything that would feed his soul and lets it starve to keep you comfortable!”

Vern put his fork down and scrubbed at his eyes. “Jesus.”

“Indeed,” Miss Spider said firmly. “You are...you are to him like a drug, you see. He needs you and he knows you shall never be willing to love him the way he needs you to love him--” Here Vern scowled, feeling something wrong in his gut though he didn’t know why. “--and since you are such a dog, always in bed with someone new within hours of breaking apart from someone old, he does not want to be as deeply in love with you as he is now when you decide you are done with him. He is trying not to be so close to you, so that he does not betray himself and you leave him because of his amour. He knows that he cannot resist you and that you will hurt him and he cannot--”

“Now hold the fuck on!” Vern argued, in a low tone. He didn’t want to get them kicked out, but he was starting to get mad. “I won’t hurt him!”

“You already do,” Tenebre said bitingly. Vern stared. “You do not trifle with love, Centipede, everyone knows this--why then trifle with him?”

“I’m not trifling with him!” Vern insisted. “I’m just...I’m trying to be good to him!”

That expression of the desire to pitch something at him appeared again on her face and her cheeks turned pink. “Then why torture him with your presence when you will not let him have your heart?”

“He’s unhappier without me,” Vern said, knowing it was true even as he said it. “I make him happy. He’s better off with me, even this way!”

Tenebre frowned. She took a bite of her meal and Vern took it as a sign that they were taking a break from the argument. They ate a little in stony silence, before Miss Spider, in an evidently calmer mood, looked at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Tell me, Centipede,” she said gently. “What has your mood towards him been these two weeks? Tell me everything. I want to know what you have thought and felt. Tell me and listen to yourself.”

“Ah, geeze,” the Brooklyn born mumbled, trying to figure out where to even begin, “I've been miserable without him. At first I kinda convinced myself that I was crazy, and I was just seein' things that ain't there. That worked, kinda, for a few days. But shit, I knew I was just foolin' myself. I could feel it, ya know? I could feel his love and it was burning me up. Hurt my skin, hurt my head. Dammit, it fuckin' terrified me!”

Vernon paused, looking down and began to pick at his food. “I felt like shit being there, I felt like a pig sleeping with him an' runnin' away right after. But it fuckin' scared me to be targeted like that! You're right, love isn't somethin' I mess with. But...I felt guilty because I didn't know what I did to make him fall so hard, and because I knew he should have been with someone better. I ain't that smart, hell, you can fuckin' see that from this mess alone! He needs somebody, though. He needs somebody that'll love him back even a fraction. But the ol' bastard went and got himself attached to me!”

The redhead put his fork down as he grabbed his head, distraught as he recalled the past week. 

“And then he was ditchin' and dodgin' me all week. And when I do see 'im, pansy ass motherfuckers cockblock and keep him away from me, as they jus' let Hops wither away. He needs me, Tenebre, he fuckin' needs me! He's dyin' without me! Hops needs me and nobody is lettin' me save him! I ain't gotta lot to give, but I want to give him anything just to make him smile again. If he wants me, he can have me-- just don't let him rot away to nothin'!”

Vernon wasn't one to cry. His ma didn't raise no pansy. But damn, did he feel close to bawling! He could feel his eyes begin to water, as he held his breath to try and hold back the waterworks. Shit, Hops, what were you doing to him? The sunburnt man was startled out of his melancholy as he felt something soft and warm brush and land on his head. It took only a moment to realize it was a hand petting and soothing him, as he looked up. Miss Spider's eyes spoke of pity, even as her lips curved into a small smile.

“You miss him.”

The janitor wanted to glare. Of course he missed him! Was that even a proper question? Wasn't she even paying attention? Vern missed him in ways he didn't even fucking know you could miss a guy! He...Hell, he wanted everything to just be fine again and see his old man! 

“Yeah, I do.” Vernon said with confidence. “I would do anything to be with him right fuckin' now.”

Miss Spider pointed at him with an encouraging smile. “C’est ca!” she said, pleased. “Let me echo you--you miss him, you are unhappy without him, you wish to cherish him, you wish for his attention as you once had it, and you are willing to do anything to make him happy. You know his need and wish to satisfy that need, because you wish to make him happy.”

“Yeah,” Vern agreed.

Tenebre spread her hands out to illustrate her point. “And you say he can have you if he wants you--will you take him if you want him?” she asked. 

Vern wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, sure, and he wasn’t the quickest dog in the race. But he knew what Tenebre was getting at and it made him feel a dizzying combination of terror and bone-deep certainty, even security. 

Miss Spider must’ve seen his answer in his face. “Eat your steak, mon cher imbecile,” she said sweetly, putting a forkful of raw meat into her mouth and smiling.

\--

Vern thought he knew what was going on, but he wasn’t totally sure. This? Now? And him, for Hops? 

All he knew is that he was itching for five o’clock to roll around so he could see Hops. He knew that if he could just clap eyes on his old man and get his hands on him, he’d know what was up. He wanted to see those eyes again, and dear sweet holy fuck if he wasn’t desperate to hear a little violin playing and see the way Hops danced with his fiddle. 

It was four thirty and he thought he was going to die.

James came and found him scrubbing a handrail to a brilliant shine. The boy was glowing, wearing a smile that was at once honestly and perfectly joyful and slightly mischievous. He had a bunch of print-outs in his hand and he ran up to Vern with an excited expression.

“It’s him!” James cried. “He’s younger, but it’s definitely him!” 

“Yeah?” Vern asked, taking the papers James thrust at him. At first he was preoccupied, still thinking about Hops and him as they were right now, but the pictures drew his attention almost immediately.

The first was a kind of portrait, the sort that would make a poster for a show. The subject was a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a neat little mustache. He was drop-dead handsome, slightly dark-skinned with cheekbones you could cut glass with, and he was well-dressed and dapper. But what really drew the eye was the expression on his face--eyes that were bright and and joyful above a melt-your-pants-off-hot smirk. 

The next was a picture of a pair of people in motion. The man from the portrait was rearing up, supporting a gorgeous, slim, dark woman whose legs were clenched around his waist, her body arching seductively and her arms thrown above her head. They looked intense, happy, the pose acrobatic but unmistakably sexual. There were a few more pictures of them dancing together, sometimes doing an old fashioned shuffle side by side, smiling, sometimes with the man throwing the woman through the air, her body flipping around his own figure.

“There are some videos, too,” James said.

Vern had been too engage with the photos, not hearing the boy at first. He was lost as he was looking into dark eyes and imagining what he would have been like to have been there. What it would have been like to witness his seductive old man in his prime, what it would have been like to see him glowing under the spotlight. Yet...he was surprised to find himself mostly looking into that young handsome face and seeing his Hops. His old man that he...that he loved. The redhead found himself gently caressing the first photo, as he craved to touch the real thing.

“Mr. Centipede?” The janitor's head jolted up as he was snapped from his trance. James was smiling warmly at him, and Vernon couldn't help but be reminded about what his mother said. Jeeze, he must have been an open book to the kid. James as if reading his thoughts, spoke again. “Uncle Theodore really is amazing, isn't he?”

Vern couldn't help but smile back.

“Yeah...yeah he is.”

The Brooklyn born man was a bit hesitant to do so, but he handed back the photos to the boy. Kid needed it for his project, after all. Damn, he was going to get one hell of a good grade-- and if he didn't, the teacher was going to have a chat with him, personally! Vern, however, was surprised when James Henry Trotter handed the portrait back to him.

“Here, Mr. Centipede. I believe you should keep this one.”

Vern took it even as he protested. “You sure, kid? You need it for your thing, don’t you?”

James smiled. “I’ll print off another one,” he said. “You keep that one.”

“Thanks, boy,” Vern said. “Anyway, yeah! Good job, kid, can’t wait to see his face when he finds out we know,” he said, feeling a slightly wicked grin breaking out over his mouth. 

James gave him a stern look. “You won’t spoil the surprise for him, will you?” he asked. “I don’t want him to have any idea that we know just yet.”

Vern smirked and gave James a little salute. “All right, chief, you got it,” Vern said, folding up the portrait and sticking it in his back pocket. 

James smiled at him. “Thanks for all the help, Mr. Centipede,” he said, and disappeared into the community center. 

Vern smiled to himself and checked his watch. Fifteen more minutes, he saw, and smiled even as he ground his jaw.


	11. The Spy Who Loved Me

Mr. Grasshopper was sitting at the piano, playing Debussy’s Clair De Lune. His craving for music had not left him and but he felt drawn in particular to Debussy recently. It wasn’t the morose despair of a requiem, which was much too dramatic for his taste at the moment. The subtle melancholy of Debussy’s ode to moonlight appealed to him and he smiled thinly as he played it. 

He’d gotten rid of Mr. Hautecourt just in time to meet Mrs. Ladybug for a few hours. He’d have to tell poor Georges at some point that he wasn’t torn in half by his dear Buggy, if only to ensure that there would be no bad blood between them.

But then, how to explain his grief to the old lawyer? 

Mrs. Ladybug was growing distraught and he made a conscious effort to soothe her. He wanted to feel better just as much as she wanted him to feel better--but it was impossible. He was grateful for their argument once upon a time that resulted in her promise not to meddle in his affair with Vernon, or he was certain that she’d be shaking the poor man by the lapels and insisting that he do something about it. 

His window was open and a warm summer breeze wafted through the living room. He smiled slightly, feeling himself drift away from his squeezed heart and enjoy, however briefly, the way his music resonated, filling without satisfying some of the void that was within him. 

The calm, however, was interrupted as he heard a clatter at his front door. He ceased his playing as the Englishman wondered what in the world was going on. Mr. Grasshopper heard the knob of his door turning viciously, as well as the door creaking on the frame. Curiosity getting the better of him, the olive-toned man removed himself from his seat as he pulled back the white curtains and looked out the bay window.

Theodore Grasshopper felt the strangest sense of deja vu as his eyes opened wide in surprise, monocle falling from its perch, as he tried to catch it. He placed it back in its proper place, giving him his vision back, as he stared. Outside, on his porch, was his addiction. Vernon, hands on the door, could be seen muttering as he constantly tried twisting and jerking the knob. The musician was taken aback again, as his gardener gave a sudden cry of curses unfit for polite company. It didn't take until he saw, and heard, the man banging on his door that he thought that maybe he should actually go and see what was ever the matter. A sense of dread filling his senses as he the man began calling his name.

“Hops! C'mon, old man, open the goddamn door! Hops!” The banging stopped as he saw his beloved Vernon rest his head on the frame, looking visibly distraught. Mr. Grasshopper felt his heart ache as the younger man cried out again. “Please! Just...Just open up!”

That was all the older man needed to hear before he rushed to the door; no matter the state of his own despair and pain, he would never turn away his Vernon Centipede.

He unlocked the door, wondering that it was locked in the first place. The banging stopped immediately and Mr. Grasshopper had under an instant to take a breath and steel himself. 

He opened the door and felt himself devouring the sight of his lover with a hunger that distance had only intensified. This was going to be a problem, he knew--whatever he had accomplished in the way of working Vernon out of his system was instantly undone, his blood beating more quickly at the mere sight of him. 

He was bright, lively, his green eyes wide and examining. Vernon looked well--but then he always did--and he was staring at him. Mr. Grasshopper read, in a distant kind of way, the surprise in his expression. He truly must be very transformed to evoke such a reaction, which didn’t shock him, since he rather felt like all his blood had been draining slowly out of him for days and was now rushing back into him.

“Hello, Vernon,” he said quietly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Vernon replied, and he felt his hands tremble slightly. Madman. Fool. He clenched the door to restrain the tremors. 

“Please come in,” Mr. Grasshopper said, stepping backwards. “Is something wrong?”

Vern walked in, feeling tense and awkward. He felt like he was holding his breath, something tight and taut trying to drag him close to Hops like a magnet attracting an iron shaving. He wanted to just stick against his old man and stay there.

Hops looked like hell. He looked pale, exhausted, and horribly sad. Vern wanted to just grab him and do something about that, somehow shake him up and get his blood moving again, get him to wake up and smile and touch him.

“Nah,” Vern lied. “Nothing wrong.”

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Nope.”

They stood and stared at each other. Mr. Grasshopper closed the front door. His heart was racing and he felt an edge of panic he couldn’t explain. Something was wrong, he could feel it, something unpredictable was going to happen but he was helpless to identify it. Vernon was here, and he needed Vernon, he wanted him with every cell in his being--but why was he here? It was a weeknight, there was none of his usual swagger, he hadn’t even been dragged down by his tie for a kiss, a vulgar gesture that he suddenly and painfully missed. 

“I hope you are well?” he asked, in an agony of awkwardness. 

“Yeah,” Vern said. “Uh, listen, Hops--”

No three words had ever been so torturous. Was this it? The thought that he’d kissed Vernon for the last time and that that kiss had been an unbearable week ago made his whole frame throb with sorrow. 

“Yes?” he asked, dragged on against his will. It was better to break it now than to let it go on, break it now, just break it fast--

“I don’t wanna be rude, but I missed you and I’ve seriously gotta touch you like right fucking now,” Vernon said.

“I- what?”

That was a response that had been the least expected. And for a moment, Mr. Grasshopper feared he had finally lost it. He had finally snapped and broken, and he was hearing things that his heart and soul needed and desired. He felt himself go numb, as he just stared at the incubus that was stealing everything away from him.

Vernon felt like his mouth was beyond dry. Shit, maybe he should have accepted a drink after all. He knew a nice cold beer would have made him feel a million times more relaxed right now. But, he knew he needed this to be as sincere as possible. Hops had to understand these weren't intoxicated nothings of a horndog. So licking his chapped lips, flesh that felt like they were cracked and sewn shut from his tension, he spoke again in a voice that didn't quite feel belonged to him.

“May I touch you?”

“I,” the older man began, his voice sounding far away as he tried to remain standing—a battle he feared he was losing. “I...Yes.”

Touch him, hold him, and never let go.

The younger man took a step closer; a pull coming straight from his chest, drawing him nearer to his older lover. The redhead stopped short at arms length, a sudden fear that if he touched the musician he would crumble into dust. His right hand trembled as he lifted it from his side, suddenly feeling like all his strength had left him. Vern bit his inner cheek, more as a pain to distract him from whatever the hell was going on, as sunburnt skin met olive-toned perfection. Vernon felt a spark go through him, as if life and energy was being restored to him, as he caressed the cheek of the man he had been miserable without. 

“God dammit, Hops,” he whispered, the faintest of smiles on his face as he leaned in closer, his body needing to breathe life back to the broken man before him. Lips close, ever so close, he said in all honesty: “You're the most beautiful sonofabitch, and I've been miserable without you.”

Vernon had been given some kind of infernal power or another. He had a power over words like nothing else Theodore had ever known: somehow he took “beautiful” and “sweetheart”, a pair of words that could never reasonably apply to him and which were so overused these days, in any event, and made them into something that made his soul sing. 

“Miserable without you”? Oh God, yes. He felt as if he must be gasping for breath, trying just to process this. Maybe his beloved was a demon after all, and this was all a Faustian fantasy--maybe the strain of unrequited love and his own artistic temperament had fractured his brain and from the crack had come this phantom reprieve. 

He would take it. If he had to sell his soul or lose his mind or both, it was a scrap of payment against the treasure of even this infinite instant before a kiss.

Vernon pressed their mouths together and no force of God nor of man could’ve restrained him from wrapping his arms around Vernon, fingers and hands clutching the back of that fiery red head, feeling the warmth of his body against skin that had begun to go cold. He was hot, so hot, the fire of Hell burning under his skin and he wanted desperately to be consumed in this man’s flames, charred to nothingness under the force of his heat. This was all there was and all he wanted was to be used and engulfed by Vernon, and he’d gladly renounce all hope of heaven and reason if he could serve as his beloved’s fuel and let Vernon burn him alive. 

His mouth was soft and wet, his lips chapped and firm and somehow so soft, and the kiss ignited an answering flame in Theodore’s own stomach, spontaneous combustion a surety. Their lips rubbed and locked together, pressing and shifting, parting only to readjust and connect again. He opened his mouth to his lover and could only sigh, voice stolen, as Vernon kissed him, tongues sliding softly and slowly together. Vernon’s tongue left him with a teasing little flick and he found himself clutching his lover much too tightly as Vernon gave him a gentle bite and tug on his lower lip. He initiated another kiss, hands combing through Vernon’s hair and making urgent fists in his shirt, unwilling to let him go.

Vernon withdrew to kiss his jaw, an intolerable distance, and Theodore felt in a faint and distracted way how his lover was smiling against his skin. 

“Vernon,” he breathed, having nothing to say, unable to recognize the name as a word. He just needed to express that beautiful noise, the slight lift, the trapped growl, the sudden fall that mirrored the sensation of his stomach dipping as his lover gave him another lingering kiss. He swallowed thickly, breath coming much too fast, his heart trying to beat its way through the cage of his chest and hurl itself at this man. 

He was totally destroyed, entirely broken. A kiss was all it took and he was right here again, at his feet, feasting on him and feeling him stinging and burning through his body. He couldn’t live without this any more, he’d do anything, endure anything, to have his venom piercing his veins. They were only kissing and he was already making love, hoping with some far off and better thought that Vernon would be unable to tell.

“Lemme take you to bed, beautiful,” his beloved said, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw and just under his chin. He tilted his head, trying to give his incubus all the access he could want. “You dunno how much I missed ya...I need ya, Hops, please lemme take you t’bed.”

This was new, oh god how it was new. Vern had fucked this man so many times he didn't even have the fingers to count it, and yet just kissing his old man was sending sensations through him that overpowered anything he had felt before. What was once cold soft skin was now flaming with the love that he knew the man had for him. The redhead could feel it slipping through cracks, like steam escaping a boiler, as it touched his skin in a way that seemed to make him glow, rather than burn and blister. The icy soul against his was turning a vibrant red, and Vern couldn't help but want whatever was truly there to break free and stop eating away at the man.

Vernon was pleased when his lover gave a soft reply of consent, the “yes” leaving the olive-toned man in a breathless sort of way that was driving the redhead's heart to do backflips in his ribcage. Vern kissed the older man once more, before breaking away to lead them up the steps. However, in defiance just as much as a fear that everything would cease and grow cold again, Vern refused to let go completely as he gently held onto Theodore's wrist. Bodies crashed into each other again once at the top of the stairs, and the gardener couldn't help but beam as Hops' lips brushed and caressed his temples and cheeks. The sunburnt man guided them towards the cream colored bedroom, and they were blocked by the closed door. Neither seemed to mind too much, however, as they stood there touching and exploring each other's mouths. 

Vernon finally broke away as he laughed in that handsome and devilish way that drove Mr. Grasshopper's auditory senses wild. Still clutching the man, the gardener opened the door, steering them inside and towards the green bedspread. The Englishman was surprised by how tenderly his passionate flame laid his lanky figure down, ushering the olive-toned man into the soft mattress. The gentleness...this was how the older man knew he had delirious and deranged; how he knew this was merely phantasmagoria. His love, no matter how sweet and kind he could be, would never do any of this. He was an animal, he was raw and violent bursts of energy that ripped into him and never let go until he was done with him. But this dream, this figment of a mad mind, it was such a foreign creature. Something unknown but just as desired as his usual beast. Coarse hands touched his face again, as thumbs rubbed and pet the musician's olive cheekbones and lips.

Whenever Vernon’s flesh passed over Theodore’s mouth, he found himself kissing his skin indiscriminately, knocking away his monocle so that he could turn his face to nuzzle against a palm that cupped the side of his head. He felt himself flush a little at the shameless gesture of adoration, but Vernon started to kiss his neck and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. He only turned to offer his mouth again and to sigh into another long kiss, one of Vernon’s hands finding one of his and beginning to rub it. 

They shifted together, Vernon pressing him flat on his back against the mattress and straddling his hips as they kissed. The craving for more was beginning to stir in him--he needed his lover’s skin under his hands, he needed to touch this phantom before it disappeared entirely. He arched up slightly, tasting Vernon’s soft chuckle as his free hand rucked Vernon’s shirt up out of his trousers and slid a hand up his smooth, curved back. 

“Guess you missed me, too?” Vernon said in a gravelly tone, and Theodore simply didn’t have the wit to reply with anything that wasn’t a pitiful whimper, and so remained silent. “Damn, dunno what you do to me, Hops, I thought I’d have to break a window to get in here...”

The fact that he was wanted--still wanted, he thought with a pang of mingled pleasure and pain--drove him on, and he set about undoing Vernon’s suspenders with one hand, shuddering under the attention his lover was paying to his sensitive palm and fingers. There was an incredible sensuality to his touch, electric pleasure zipping through his mind as Vernon firmly massaged finely-tuned nerves and tendons. 

Vern grinned a little as Hops fidgeted with his clothes. He never thought he’d be the one to be willing to just neck with someone, fully-dressed, but maybe there was a first time for everything. Hops was still trying to keep a lid on it, Vern could see, but the way the man arched and moved underneath him, he decided that that restraint couldn’t last much longer. He was hitting some of Hops’ spots by massaging him, he could tell--gave a whole new meaning to the idea of a handjob, he realized with a stupid grin.

When Hops has his suspenders undone, Vern decided that it was time to return the favor. He lifted Hops’ hand to his mouth for a kiss, smiling at the way Hops lay back, panting softly, staring with dark, glassy eyes. One hand was already undoing Hops’ cravat, and Vern batted it away, wanting to unwrap this little gift all by himself. 

It took some doing, and admittedly the way Hops kept pulling him back down for more kisses was a distraction, however a nice one, but eventually he had that long, slender neck he loved so much bare and begging for his attention. Hell, he loved that neck, and the way it connected to those shoulders, and the way those shoulders looked in the dim light of dawn, and by God he was going to see exactly that sight when he woke up tomorrow...

He slid back down to settle, full-bodied, all along Hops’ frame, giving his old man a little thrill with a slow churn of his hips against Hops’. Hey, he might be in love, but he was a mutt at heart. He kissed Hops, running his hand down his old man’s throat, feeling the thundering pulse and vibration of Hops’ breath catching, fingers tracing smooth skin and tense muscle and the little dip between his collarbones. Vern broke away to bury his nose against Hops’ jaw, smelling that incredible cologne scent that made him think of sex, of his old man, of staking a claim right here and now to prove that this scent, that clean cologne and whatever Hops put in his hair and the tang of sweat and lust, was just for him.

The redhead went to unbuttoning Mr. Grasshopper's suit, each button making a delicious popping noise as they slipped out of the fabric's slits. Shit, how did Vern never hear this before? Were these sounds that Hops heard every time they hastily ripped off each other's clothes? No wonder he went wild, being the sound based pleasure guy that he was! Vernon grinned as he pulled the man out of the coat, making sure as he pulled the musician off the bed to have their hips rub, sending jolts of pleasure through their bodies. The lanky man gasped, as he tried to grip onto the man to bring him closer. Vern allowed it, savoring those nimble fingers that dug into his sunburnt back. If Hops dug any deeper, he would leave marks-- the beastly part of the gardener's brain saw no problem with this as he smirked. 

Feeling urgency-- the need to touch and feel the chest that housed his old man's love for him-- Vernon pushed the Englishman clutching him back into the sheets. Coarse hands went to tugging the tucked in shirt out from its place as he opened up the shirt. Layers, always with the layers. With the patience of a saint, or what Vern believed a lovesick saint would posses, the redhead removed the tops until nothing was left but the bony frame of the dark skinned musician. With an arch of his back, the younger man hungrily placed trails of kisses over every inch of exposed flesh. He felt his lover squirm, covered and hardened mounds begging for touch. Vern thrust his junk forward; bringing a meaty hand down to grip on one of Hops' angular hipbones, keeping him in place, the sunburnt man made his way back up his lover's body.

“Dammit Hops, I love you so fuckin' much,” Vernon couldn't help but draw in another whiff of his lovers scent, as he nuzzled the crevice of the musician’s neck. “Ya ain't pushin' me away again. I won't let you, stupid stubborn old bastard.”

Theodore’s world, which had been shrinking and disintegrating rapidly as Vernon laid him bare and touched him, suddenly shrieked to a halt and came into sharp focus. Vernon kissed his throat and Theodore fisted a hand in his hair, leaning away slightly.

“What?” he asked, twisting far enough that he could face Vernon, their noses touching. Vernon went to kiss him again but Theodore was feeling a frantic sort of shudder working up his spine and he had to know. “What did you say?”

Vernon heaved a sigh and smirked, and with a sudden joyful horror unlike anything he’d known before, Theodore realize that this man was real, perfectly real, and whatever dizzy idea he’d had of his insanity died. “You’re a stubborn old bastard,” Vernon repeated, eyes glinting. 

Theodore held his head in both hands. “Tell me,” he pleaded. He felt the cool air of the bedroom against his bare skin and felt mortified suddenly, stripped bare to the waist with Vernon on top of him, dressed.

Vernon kissed his lips lightly, a soft, chaste peck that made him want to shudder all over. “I love you, Hops,” he said. 

“Again,” he insisted, hands beginning to move again, one thumb tracing Vernon’s brow, his pulse thundering in his ears. 

“I love you,” Vernon said, again, smiling. 

“Oh,” he whispered, clutching Vernon close. His heart was wide open and hot in his chest. It had burst entirely and he felt as if he’d surely die in this man’s arms. “Oh, my darling, I adore you, my love, you own my soul,” he breathed, kissing Vernon’s face and jaw and neck. “Say it again, I beg you, I’m sure I must be dead or dreaming...”

“I love you,” the younger man laughed a note so sweet it hit the musician’s ears in a hum. “You ain't dreamin', and you sure as hell ain't gone to meet no maker. Kick God's ass if he even tried.”

Theodore sighed, eyes closing as he let the words wash over his soul-- the words cleansing all that his pent-up love had tainted and stained. All worry and pain he had felt from loving his rakish fiery-haired flame went out in a puff of smoke as he attacked the younger man with kiss after kiss. His senses were surely haywire, as he experienced both a tremble of weakness and rejuvenated energy the likes he hadn't felt for the longest of times. 

Mr. Grasshopper's need to touch and kiss every inch of his love increased, as he broke away to unwrap his glorious gardener from his clothes. Vernon only smirked as he let the lanky man do as he pleased, only helping to slip out a sun-baked arm here, or arch his back there. The younger man, meanwhile worked on slipping out of his shoes, being mindful of the expensive sheets, as they both tried to get the other out of their trousers. Hips bucked as they ground into each other, lusty needs just as important as the spiritual ones. 

Vern found his hands grabbing at whatever skin he could clutch and touch. His fingers slipping under the fabric of Hops' briefs, his thick digits enjoying the sensation of the tease of neatly trimmed hairs. Not able to ignore the animal in his mind any longer, the gardener growled as he jerked down the undergarments in a powerful pull.

Unless Theodore was very much mistaken, he’d just heard a seam rip. It didn’t even occur to him to be angry, and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up instead. He let out only part of it before sighing as Vernon reached over into the bedside table and brought out the bottle of lubricant. That gave him time and room to relieve his lover of his own undergarments and Vernon wriggled out of them. He gave Vernon a gentle stroke with light fingers, thrilling at his lover’s low growl.

“Tease,” Vern muttered. Hops gave him such a radiant smile that it almost hurt to kiss it off his face. 

Almost.

Vern found himself in that not-unusual position of being flipped underneath Hops--the man’s fondness for being on top would’ve alienated Vern if he didn’t find it incredibly sexy. After all, he was going to flip him back down sooner or later, so he might as well enjoy this while he had it. As it was, there was something about the way Hops leaned over him and smiled that gorgeous smile of his, tousling his hair under the pretext of combing it back.

“I suppose it’s hopelessly obvious to you,” he said, hands running slow, long touches down Vern’s chest and belly. “But I love you, too.”

Vern grinned, surprised by how good it was just to hear that from Hops’ own mouth. He wanted to say something pithy and smart, but he felt himself grinning like a goon and knew there was no help for it. “Yeah?”

“I truly do,” he confirmed. “And I never would’ve dreamed...I hope you realize that I was starving without you,” he said, leaning down to leave suckling kisses down Vern’s throat and collar bones, taking up that bottle of lube and squeezing some out on his hand. He wrapped those long fingers around Vern’s prick and started to slowly pump him, smiling angelically. “And now that I have you, I intend to absolutely feast on you...”

Words did not exist as his older lover bent over, all the while still pumping his throbbing cock, and he kissed and nuzzled the wild red hairs of his pelvis and protruding abdomen. Concealed from his sight, Vern's senses took over as he could just feel how the velvety lubricant coated his shaft. He hissed as those nimble digits fondled his head, before squeezing down the ridges to its base. Oh God, could this man fuck with his hands alone! 

“Shit, Hops!” Vern cried, his hands wildly grabbing onto the olive thighs, gripping fiercely as if holding on to dear life. He had missed those hands, those miraculous fingers that knew their way around instruments and men alike. And now, with the moxie of a burning and amorous yearning as Mr. Grasshopper pumped and stroked his erection, the redhead could only beg for more the only way he knew how: vulgarity. “Fuckin' hell, don't you fuckin' stop!”

Theodore’s breath came out in a little chuckle as he kissed Vern’s hip. “Bless me, you’re utterly filthy.” He ran his mustache down the join of Vernon’s hip and thigh, making him twitch violently underneath him. He grinned recklessly and slid back up, his spare hand coming with him as he kissed Vernon’s chest, fairly purring as his beloved slid his own hands up to take hold of him. “Oh!”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it, don’t ya?” Vernon growled, giving him a little squeeze. “Bet you’d do any goddamn thing to get dirty, wouldn’t ya?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Theodore purred, kissing him but lightly batting away his hand. “Find something else to do with those,” he instructed. “Let me enjoy you a bit, my love.”

“Fuck that!” Vern replied, reaching for him again. Hops was a fucking tease, though, and stopped stroking him, making him squirm from the motionless pressure of Hops’ warm hand. “Hops!”

Hops kissed him again and gave him such an evil smirk. “Don’t try to distract me, Vernon, I want to focus every--” he kissed his neck, “--last--” his hand twisted on Vern’s prick and he about shot out of his skin, “--bit--” he matched word to deed, lightly scraping his teeth against one of Vern’s nipples, “--of my attention on you.” 

Vern was sure he wasn’t going to survive having all of Hops’ attention on him, but damn...what a way to go! 

Hops started to stroke him again, Vern rocking his hips a little to meet him. That display of eagerness made Hops give him a dirty smile and Vern knew exactly why so many women had wanted his ass when he was younger--if his old man had smiled at someone nowadays with just a fraction of that loving, lusting expression, he’d have people falling all over themselves to get at him! His kisses were hotter, somehow, or maybe they just felt that way, and Hops was unabashedly leaving marks and bruises on his skin, something he’d never done before.

“Oh, I adore you, darling,” he murmured, in a voice that was simultaneously as sweet as a sonata and as dark and smoky as a ‘fuck-me-now’ purr. “With all my heart. Not just for this, I assure you...but God, I do so love this. You look so perfect, spread out underneath me, hard in my hands...I can feel you ache for me, not that you’ll admit it, you proud mongrel...”

The Brooklyn born man felt a rumble erupt from the pit of his stomach, the very same place where he felt the scorch of his lust boil and rise as he thrust his member into that divine hand that wanted nothing else but to touch and devour him. Vern didn't know what to feel, on one hand he felt embarrassed by how worked up he was already, just by the old bastard stroking his cock! Damn, this was pathetic! Yet...oh God, Hops had never looked at him with unrestrained fervor before, those lusty eyes brilliant with his affections, and yet raw with his lust. And then how those smooth and talented palms squeezed him in such a way that he almost feared he would let his load go flying now!

“God dammit, Hops!” Vernon's breath caught in his chest, as the older man grabbed his testicles, his neatly trimmed nails dragging along the fleshy sack. He swore his nerves were on fire, in a pleasantly agonizing way, as his legs squirmed and he dug himself deeper into the man he was latching onto. The gardener growled again. “Shit! Don't know what you fuckin' do to me! Just touchin' me, fuck, just touchin' me! Mother fuckin'- uh, I jus' want you so fuckin' badly.” His shut his eyes tightly-- he couldn't even stand to look at the man that was turning him into a worthless wreck. “Turnin' me into a pantin' mutt, into a God damn dog! Shit!”

Theodore felt his own loins twitch in pleasure, as he listening to the sounds his lover made. The heavy pants like the deep vibrations of a cello as it hit his ears, the beating of his heart the crazed beatings of a drummer, and his hisses like woodwinds in an orchestra only he was meant to enjoy. Mr. Grasshopper couldn't help but thrust his hips, in a way he was all too used to with his precious violin, as he let the music wash over him in a way that had never been as enjoyable before. He had loved music with a passion, but never in his wildest fantasies had music ever loved him back the way this aching man was under him.

He kissed the filthy words from Vernon’s mouth, smiling as his lover’s hands cupped the back of his neck and slid down the ripple of his sides. He loved those heavy, warm hands so dearly, loved the way they left handprints on him and covered him with the indelible trace of Vernon’s fingertips, evidence of how much this man wanted him.

“Open your eyes, my love,” Theodore asked, kissing Vernon’s cheek and the side of his nose. “You have such beautiful eyes and I can’t tell you how much I want to feel them on me...”

Vern pried his peepers open with some effort, catching sight of the man who was breaking him apart. “God damn,” he said softly.

Hops looked happy. Hell, Hops looked so happy, Vern thought he’d pop. That fantastic grin of his was on broad display, totally trusting Vern with that secret smile he tried so hard to hide, and his dark eyes were bright and focused and hungry. He looked so much better than any old man had any right to look, naked and mussed in bed. The way he looked at Vern, like he was something special and precious, something Hops wanted to worship, and at the same time was something his old man wanted to just totally use and abuse, made his blood sting hot and fierce. Vern only hoped that Hops saw the same thing in him, because the feeling was so mutual. 

“My darling,” Hops said again, leaning in to kiss him. Shit, that was so gooey and squishy and ridiculous, the kind of thing Vern never would’ve gotten behind...but then, no one had ever said it how Hops said it, just like how no one ever put that ‘I-love-you’ tilt on his first name before. It wasn’t some stupid pet name when Hops said it--Hops really, really loved him and it was all coming out when he called Vern ‘darling.’ It made him feel like a kid, like an idiot, stupid over this guy and unable to do much but lie there and love him so much he felt like he’d burst.

Fuck that! Time to get proactive about this! 

Vern held the back of his head, turning the kiss around so that he was the one ravishing Hops’ mouth. Like hell was he going to lie back and let his old man do all the work! Vern was going to rock Hops’ world!

...right after he finished enjoying Hops’ hands. Damn. Looks like he had another kink!

“Do you want to come off, my love?” Hops murmured in his ear. “Whatever you’d like from me, Vernon, you must know it’s already yours entirely...if it would please you to climax in my hands, I want that. I shall not let you go--we have a full night ahead of us...”

Vern bit his lower lip, just enough that he got a little whimper out of Hops, enough to shut up that fuck-me-now voice of his that totally drove Vern ‘round the bend. “Fuck that,” Vern growled. “What, you think I’m gonna let you make me pop after a two-minute handjob like a fuckin’ teenager when I got so much of you to manhandle?”

“I merely--”

“You’re goddamn right you ain’t lettin’ me go,” Vern continued, “and I’m gonna work you all night long, too, don’t you worry about that...”

And active Vernon certainly became, as his coarse hands went to feeling any of the dark skin he could reach. White lines were etched into olive flesh as uneven nails, evidence of how often he used them in his cleaning and work, left trailed marking all over. The redhead, the animal that he was, was going to leave Mr. Grasshopper with undeniable evidence that none of this was a dream. Theodore gasped as as those claws of his carnivorous beast found themselves grazing his rear. The nerves screamed out, as he knew they would be raw and sore later.

But what mattered of later! The musician only cared about the now as each mark seemed to send him closer to the edge. Hops was startled out of his haze as he was suddenly flipped onto his back, hitting the soft mattress in an audible 'thump'. Theodore moaned as those claws from his red flamed demon attacked his thighs, urging him to spread his legs. Vern then went to grabbing his own girth, coating his hands and fingers with the lubrication. He grinned his concupiscent smile, as he looked down at the lanky man underneath him. His thick fingers edged their way to the puckered entrance of his old man, and his eyes lit up from the way Theodore squirmed just from one finger teasing his ass.

“You like that, don'tcha?” Vern's voice rumbled, “Jus' like how you know this means my cock is about t'ride your ass. Shit, no matter how many times I fuck ya, you're just so tight.” Another finger entered, as they found the musician’s sweet spot-- sending Theodore's hips bucking as the Brooklyn man's other hand went to gripping the gap between his thigh and groin, claws attacking this white tufts of trimmed hairs they found. “God damn, babe, so fuckin' hot inside and out. On fire! I do this to ya, don't I? Make ya burn up just from wanting my dick in ya. Fuckin' beautiful bastard...”

Theodore smiled breathlessly. ‘Beautiful.’ Oh, he wasn’t used to it, he probably never would be, but it simply made him mad, the way Vernon used that perfect word to such incredible effect. He gasped as Vernon rubbed his prostate again, leaving him trembling with desire. “Oh, my love--!”

“Yeah, baby, you love me,” Vernon grinned, kissing his lips almost sweetly even as his fingers did such a filthy, lustful thing to his body. “Shit, fuckin’ can’t believe you do...dunno what I did to deserve that. Plus, fuck, can’t believe I love you too, sweetheart, but I sure as shit do--and you’re gonna know it...”

Even as he talked, Vern felt himself grinning like an idiot. Hops was squirming so nicely beneath him--how could he keep from grinning? There was nothing on earth like watching Hops as he slowly lost his composure, especially now, when he knew that there was nothing held back anymore, all of his lover open and exposed and loving him. It wasn’t the same, even if he couldn’t put into words exactly what the difference was. 

Vern grabbed the tube of slick and squeezed out a little more onto his fingers. Hops squirmed gorgeously, making this little noise of desperation as Vern teased around his prostate, flirting near it without actually touching it. “Vern--!”

“Heh, you’re slippin’, babe,” Vern snickered, leaning down to kiss his chest. Damn, he knew something wasn’t right--Hops didn’t have a single love bite on him! Time to fix that, PDQ! Fingers fucking Hops slowly, Vern kissed and sucked at a spot on Hop’s neck until a dark bruise appeared, the old man’s shaking hands in his hair, pleading down his shoulders and neck. “Losin’ your words?”

“N-Not yet,” Theodore said, as Vernon’s fingers passed another teasing caress inside him. “Oh, Vernon, please darling, please--!” 

Vern picked his head up from where he was nibbling down his lover’s chest and kissed him on the mouth, catching his lower lip with grinning teeth as he pressed a third finger inside him and stretched, loving the needy little rocks of Hops’ hips and the sounds he made as Vern tortured him with the lightest touches he could give. “Yeah, you want it so bad, don’t ya? Ain’t too proud to beg, baby, I gotta hand it to ya...and ya beg so fuckin’ nice, too.” Vern’s free hand slipped down and wrapped around Hops’ cock, pumping it. “Now ya know what I’m like when you got your hands on me, Hops. Make a man fuckin’ insane, teasin’ ‘im like that...well, whaddaya think? You wanna come right now?” he asked with an evil grin.

“No!” Hops said breathlessly, obviously struggling to contain himself and be composed. “I-I want...th-that is, I want to--”

“Yeah, say it, baby,” Vern growled happily, fucking Hops nice and slow and firm. “Tell me what you want, beautiful, I wanna hear that pretty mouth a’yours gettin’ dirty...”

Mr. Grasshopper bucked again, his nimble fingers making their own marks on the back of the sunburnt man's neck. Theodore hissed, as he made himself push on and give into his own lustful demons.

“Fuck me,” he begged , “Please...Vernon, I want you to ravish me. Put your thick member inside me, darling...” He paused to gasp for breath, as he had to force his eyes to remain open. “I-I need...”

Vernon didn't need to hear another word, as he slipped out his fingers and growled. The redheaded man positioned himself, also lifting up the lankier frame at the desired angle, before his head met Hop's entrance. Both cried out as the younger man made his way inside the tight, warm, orifice.

“Shit!” Vernon held on tighter to the man's ass, as Hops found his long legs wrapping around his back. The younger man grunted again, as he was squeezed closer to his lover. “Oh, fuckin' hell, Hops. God damn broiler in your ass!”

“Vernon-”

“I know, babe.” The gardener eased himself back, before slamming into his love again. “Uhnn! Shit! Yeah, gonna fuck ya til ya can't see straight. Cancel your plans, you ain't gonna be walkin' tomorrow!”

That was the momentum they needed, as Centipede thrust in and out of Mr. Grasshopper. The action created suction sounds as the constricted entrance tried its best to lock Vern into place, as the large man defied its wants. The enormous girth attacked Hops' barn-yard door with ferocity; the musician moaned as he clamped tighter on the cock that wanted to rock him into oblivion.

“Darling...Oh, oh darling!”

“Yeah sweetheart, shit! God damn it, do it again! Clench your ass on me!” Theodore obliged, both of them gasping. “Ungh! Dammit! Yes! You like that, don'tcha? Fuckin' angel with the lust of an animal! Try to make people think you're this classy uptight mother fucker, and deep down you just want dick like the rest of 'em.” He thrust harder, hands gripping vigorously and knowing that bruises would start showing up in a matter of minutes. “I love that, “ Vern admitted, “I fuckin' love how hungry ya are for my cock. Shii-yeah, an' I jus' wanna give ya what ya want. Gonna treat ya right, gonna make you the happiest and horniest bastard on earth...” 

Theodore was panting for breath, simultaneously attempting to fill his lungs and stifle his own noise, to better hear Vernon. He’d always liked it a bit rough, but he’d never thought he’d be so intensely aroused by his lover using such filthy language. Those words made something hot and heavy coil in his abdomen, even as he felt himself flush with excitement and a touch of embarrassment. He wanted more, could never say such things himself, but wanted them all the same, in that voice, with that incredible brutish accent that did such delicious, dirty things to him...

How he’d missed this! It was pathetic, how slightly more than a week without this man’s touch could make him so eager and wanton. But he craved him, with every fiber of his being, and his whole body and mind, everywhere Vernon’s skin and breath and warmth and gaze was not, begged for him. He loved how this man touched him, how he filled him, stretched him, how he fucked him with such perfect, base, animal desire, his prick so hot and so hard inside him. Vernon was right: he was so hungry for him, for all of him and particularly that part of him. His lover knew him right to his core...yes, he was no different, he wanted to be used and pleasured and thoroughly debauched, to be let off his strangling leash of restraint and to be desired, taken, and fucked by this man out of sheer carnal passion.

“Yes,” he gasped, unable to articulate more. Vernon loved him, he loved him, it was mad and impossible but Vernon might exaggerate for the flavor of a story but he didn’t lie and he’d known, known from the way he said it, that he didn’t throw that word about lightly. He couldn’t know it, but Vernon had already made good on his promise--he felt that it was impossible for the human frame to contain more joy and more desire than was currently straining against the limits of his all-too small and mortal form. 

Their position allowed their bodies to rub together, and as they rocked against each other Theodore kissed Vernon breathlessly, before leaving his mouth free for more of that wonderful voice as he turned his attention to his lover’s neck and shoulders. Oh, the sun loved him, look how it had kissed his skin and touched him everywhere and tried to leave marks of its passionate desire all over him. Theodore didn’t blame it at all.

Vern was fucking him hard and fast, their usual pace, since fuck--Hops might be starving for his dick but he was a fucking filthy goddamn liar if he said he wasn’t starving for Hops’ ass right back. It was going to come to a quick end at this pace, and Vern sure as shit didn’t give up the best handjob of his life to squirt a minute and a half in.

With a low growl he slowed down, laughing softly as one of Hop’s hands raked down his back and his lover bucked, making this adorable little strangled noise of need. Damn. Hops wasn’t doing himself any favors if he was going to always be so fucking sexy when he was teased. 

“Yeah, baby,” Vern purred, “you’re fuckin’ horny, aren’t ya? Get you outta your suit and you’re a dog just like me, beautiful, just wanna fuck like a horny mutt. Makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He rocked his hips hard, giving Hops a good, deep, solid thrust that drew a little whimper of a sound out of him. He loved it when Hops got beyond coherent speech...best thing in the world was Hops’ little pleasured animal noises. “And I promise you, baby, I’m gonna do you doggy-style and fuck that perfect pedigree right off. But lemme just...” His hips pulsed again, pumping nice and slow and firm. “Wanna feel you. Yeah, sweetheart...goddamn, I missed ya. Don’t push me away again, baby, ‘cause I ain’t gonna let you get rid’a me that easy. I don’t want no next time but if there is, you’re gonna have me poundin’ down your door all over again and I’ll fuck ya so good in front of anybody who’s here.”

“Good heavens,” Theodore gasped, arms wrapping more tightly around Vernon. Their chests pressed together, Vern kissed him. 

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ do it, Hops, I need ya and I can’t stay away from ya. And I’ll do what I gotta do to get ya.” Vern kissed his neck, breathing in that smell of sex that just made him harder. “Fuck. What the hell, Hops, you’re like sex in-fuckin’-carnate, dunno what you do to me...”

'Do to you?' A voice in the back of the musician's mind cried. 'Darling, look what you do to me!' 

It was true. Mr. Grasshopper was a mess. Oh, completely and utterly destroyed in mind, body, and soul. He couldn't believe how he panted and whined, as his red devil flame slowed down his thrusting just to gently rock his hips and touch the older man's body. His body was already perspiring, and he was already long gone. The Englishman only knew that he wanted this man. He wanted their crescendo of copulation to reach its peak and send him falling back into the strong sunburnt arms of his lover. He wanted this demon to drag him to the hottest points of hell and burn him up until he was damned for the rest of his existence. 

But most of all, he wanted to hear that wonderful voice sing out notes of adoration, for him to say those ridiculous pet names in those tones that made them music to his ears.

“Vernon...”

Fuck, that look. Always with that look. How could that old bastard, the younger man wondered, give him that sweet and sexy look as he was having his ass hammered?! Vern Centipede felt his freckled face flush, as he picked up his speed again. 

“Yeah, shit-- alright sweetheart. Jus'-- yeah, ungh! Here ya go, babe, give ya whatcha want. Shit, be lyin' if I didn't want ya too.” Showing his gratification, the white haired man kissed Vernon's shoulders and neck, his mustache sending a sensation that went straight to the redhead's cock. “Oh God, Hops! Fuckin' hell!”

Hands roaming his beloved’s back, Theodore laughed softly, the noise becoming a rather tense groan as Vernon sped up, bringing their bodies roughly together. His prick pulsed hard and hot, trapped between his belly and Vernon’s, and he spared a hand from Vernon’s back to touch himself. “Oh, Vernon, my love...”

“Nope,” Vern said with a evil smile. “Keep ‘em where I can feel ‘em, babe. You’re mine.” He hitched himself up on one elbow and wrapped his hand around Hops’ hardon, giving him a good tug. “Oh, just look at you...”

Shuddering, Theodore kissed his lover’s mouth, letting out a soft sound of delight as Vernon rubbed firmly against his prostate. He scratched down Vernon’s back, clinging tightly to whatever part of the man he could get. “Please,” he gasped, trying to gather his wits. “Darling. Say it again!”

Vern laughed in a low voice and let Hops drag him down for a kiss. “Love you, baby.”

“Again!”

“Damn, you’re demanding,” Vern panted. He tugged Hops firmly, matching pace with the hard, fast thrusts of his hips. “Oh, sweetheart, I love ya...come on, Hops, I wanna watch you lose it, beautiful...”

Theodore clutched at the back of Vernon’s head, gasping for air. “Oh dear, oh dear God, Vernon, please, please, darling--”

“Do it, baby, lemme make you come...ya sexy old son of a bitch, I fuckin’ love you--”

Theodore let out a sharp noise, not quite a cry or a yelp, but it came from the very center of the man and he didn’t even try to keep it quiet or hide himself, head rocking back into the pillows as he made a filthy mess of Vernon’s hand. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe--certainly couldn’t do anything but luxuriate in the knowledge that Vernon was here, Vernon loved him, Vernon was making love to him. He was broken, just a panting, shuddering wreck of a man, the calm and cold facade of his everyday life left irrevocably behind and good riddance. 

He was in the arms of his demon and Vernon was burning him up.

The redhead, meanwhile, felt the man riding his cock shudder and spasm his insides in that intoxicating way an orgasm makes a person quake. Vernon moaned as he lifted his lover up and shoved him down on his girth again and again, so close to hitting his climax. Fuck, his old man clenched again, as he began to come up, still catching his breaths after his orgasm, and kissed Vern's face with feverous felicity. Kiss after kiss, each one like holding a match close to his skin. Flames burning his face, only to poof away in a whiff of smoke as the cool air replaced it. Oh fucking hell, he loved this man. 

And it was with that in Vernon's mind, that he lost himself as he climaxed into the older man. He grunted as he found himself falling forward only for the solid and skinny frame of his lover to catch him. The younger of the two panted, his lungs grasping for whatever air they could, as he smiled. His grin only grew as he felt those hands of his beloved musician gently stroke his red hair as he fell back down to earth.

“God damn,” was all he could manage to say.

“I quite disagree,” said the smooth, cultured voice above him, only a slightly ragged edge to it to betray how wrecked the speaker was. “Much more like heaven, don’t you think?”

Vern laughed breathlessly. “Mmph. Gettin’ squishy on me, Hops.”

“I’m entirely allowed,” he replied, kissing Vern’s temple. “After all, I love you.”

Vern wondered if his heart would keep stammering every time Hops said that or if it would fade into something more relaxed. To be honest, he kind of liked the little mini heart attacks.

“Love you, too, baby,” Vern said, leaning up to kiss Hops properly on the mouth. Their kiss was slow and sweet this time, no rush or urgency to push them on. Good as that had been, it had come on the heels of unwilling celibacy and they’d been frantic to satisfy that urge. Now they got to relax into a kiss, Hops’ hands on Vern’s head and neck, Vern’s on his man’s sides. 

After a few long kisses, Vern carefully withdrew, not wanting to hurt Hops. He grabbed a couple of wipes out of the bedside table--much easier than going to the bathroom--and cleaned himself and Hops up a little, although he licked his own hand clean with a filthy grin, watching Hops blush a little and dart glances at him when he thought Vern wasn’t looking at him.

But what the hell else could Vern be looking at? Hops was here and naked and happy and fucking well radiant, lying on his side with his arms around Vern, playing with his hair and touching him dreamily, half-wrecked. Vern couldn’t take his eyes off him if he tried.

“So you feelin’ better?” Vern asked at last, kissing Hops’ lips. “You’re looking better.”

“I’m sure I am,” Hops replied with a smile. “You’ve made me very happy, my darling. I love you with all my heart, truly,” he said in a softer tone, kissing Vern again.

Vern felt his heart pound. Damn! “Yeah? Good. That’s my job.”

“That’s your job?” Hops echoed. “My goodness. And what recompense are you getting for such excellent work?”

“My boss is hot, what can I say?” Vern asked.

Hops laughed. “I’m flattered,” he murmured, kissing Vern’s forehead. “Ah, my love.” He nuzzled against Vern’s cheek. “Mm, things would be perfect if I weren’t famished.”

“Yeah? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Mmm,” Theodore shrugged, unanswering, uncertain. 

“Shit!” Vern said. “Gotta feed you up! What do you feel like?”

Hops gave him such a smirk, a hand sliding down Vern’s belly as he licked his lips. “You know, I have the strongest craving for sausage,” he purred, smutty smile sending a zing to Vern’s nerves as long fingers played with his limp dick. “Perhaps you can give me a little reintroduction to the pleasure of having meat in one’s mouth?”

“Oh shit,” Vern swallowed, taking that hand away and kissing it, turning Hops’ game against him. “Holy fuck, you got some energy, man...”

“I’m not making empty threats, Vernon,” he replied with another kiss. Hops nuzzled him and let him be, although his spare hand did wander dreamily southward, his old man sighing as Vern rubbed his hand. “I shall make good on everything I promise you, my love. Always.” He kissed Vernon again. “I’m so happy, I’ll surely burst. It’s all so abrupt, my darling--I never thought you’d endure my affection, let alone love me yourself. It’s miraculous. I fear to close my eyes, lest I awaken.”

“Well, I ain't no mirage, that's for sure.” Vern smiled, “An' tell me about it. Took me forever an' a half to figure things out for m'self. Sorry for being such a fuckin' dumbass, Hops.”

“Under the circumstances, I think I can find within myself to forgive you.”

The younger man laughed as a hand made its way down the slim frame of his lover. A hand rested on the olive-toned hip, as Vernon's coarse thumb massaged the flesh it was greeted with. Leaning in closer, the gardener nibbled an ear.

“Damn, still a smartass, I see. Ya know, I am still keepin' score on that-- that's seven.”

“Seven!” Mr. Grasshopper exclaimed. “How in the world! Surely you have already paid those long ago, and this is a new list?”

“Eight. What did I say about tellin' me about my own rules?”

The older man chuckled, a deep hum that Vernon swore went straight through him. Damn, this was ridiculous. Fuckin' hell, being in love was going to destroy him. And as those soft hands found their way to going up and down his sunburnt body, sending sensations straight back to his nether region, he supposed it wasn't such a bad way to go...


	12. True Lies

James Henry Trotter looked over his papers, quite proud of what he would be presenting to his family, and the rest of the center, later on that day. He had his report on his Aunt Rosie and Uncle Theodore in little plastic protected slips, turning his project into little booklets. Both of them, as the front covers, had crayon drawings of what his older relations as they were depicted nowadays. However, the brunette child couldn't help but smile as he thought of the actual photos that accompanied them. Especially those of his dear uncle.

“Hey, hello,” a voice called next to him, snapping James from his thoughts. “Earth to James, ya readin' me?”

The boy beamed softly as he turned to his two friends he had made during the summer. Lilo Pelekai, the Hawaiian native that had been trying to get his attention, and the other boy of the group-- Christopher Robin Milne. Christopher Robin merely waved, as he was amused to see the dazed expression on his friend's face. James blushed.

“Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't miss much. Would you mind repeating your story?”

Lilo sighed in frustration, putting her hands on her hips, her right hand sporting her own project.

“You didn't hear ANY of that? My whole explanation on how my parents were really related to the alien voodoo priests of Pluto, and you didn't hear ANY of it?! UH! Jaaaames!”

James took the project that was handed to him and admired the crayon drawing Lilo had made of her own family. Her sister was drawn with angry eyebrows and a downward turning mouth, and her parents were bright purple with antennae. Lilo had also drawn her dog, Stitch, at her feet.

“Why do they have soccer balls?” James asked, squinting at the black and white circles at the feet of her parents.

“They’re skulls,” Christopher Robin explained.

“It’s voodoo!” Lilo insisted. She leaned close to his project. “What’s yours about?”

“Go ahead and look,” James offered the project to her. Lilo flipped through it. 

“Not a lot of monsters,” she said skeptically. “Although this lady--” she pointed to the picture of Uncle Theodore’s dance partner, “--looks kind of like a vampire.”

Christopher Robin had taken the report on Aunt Rosie and was paging through it. “Is she scooping out someone’s brains?” he asked, surprised. Lilo dropped the other report onto the desk and peered over Christopher’s shoulder.

Indeed she was. 

“Is your aunt a moon beast?” Lilo asked James, just daring him to lie. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. 

Christopher Robin closed the report. “We came over because we need you for kick ball. The summer school kids are coming over and Lilo wants to thrash Myrtle.”

“I don’t want to thrash her,” Lilo corrected. “I want to destroy her!”

“All right!” James agreed, putting his reports back in his backpack. “Let’s go!”

The three friends trooped out into the sunshine of the baseball field to join the other teams.

\--

Vern creaked the door open very quietly, hoping to catch Hops unawares. He grinned as he heard the violin. All right, that was more like it! It was something sprightly and cheerful, and Vern creeped to the entrance of the living room to catch sight of his man.

Mr. Grasshopper was basking in the faint sunlight that made its way from his opened window, a light warm breeze blowing the gauzy white curtains. Man, the scene before the redhead was practically picturesque! Hops, glowing, that soft smile on his lips as he happily played his fiddle. His body lightly swayed, nothing overtly sexual, just a little rock of his hips as he contentedly sawed his bow across the strings. The olive-toned man twisted and turned until his back was to the gardener.

Vernon took this chance to slip into the room, and into the closest cushioned armchair. He beamed as he got comfortable, happy to see his musician play in his white summer suit. If the sunburnt man was perfectly honest, Hops looked like he had just descended from heaven itself. The musician played on, until the final high note trailed off, and Theodore just stood there, with the instrument under his chin, as he let it fade away to nothing. He hummed, taking in a deep breath, as he removed the violin and brought it to his sides. Not even turning around, the older man sighed.

“Hello, Vernon.”

“Hey there, Angel. How'd ya know I was here?”

Vernon straightened up in his seat, as his lover turned to face him. God, he was gorgeous with that peaceful smirk of his. His pearly whites peeked from under his mustache, as Mr. Grasshopper spoke again.

“I can always feel when your eyes are on me, darling. They have the habit of piercing right through my person. Can be quite distracting, from time to time. “

“Only time to time?” The redhead gave a fake glare, his pout almost convincing is it weren't for the turn of his lip. “Damn! Guess I'll have'ta try harder then.”

“Oh, pray do not,” Mr. Grasshopper said, putting his violin gently into its case. “Much more and I shall be inattentive and stammering every time you enter a room.”

Vern stretched his legs out in front of him and grinned. “Can’t see nothing wrong with that!”

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” the musician said with a smile. He clicked the case closed and crossed the room, bending at the waist to kiss Vern’s lips. “Have you passed a pleasant day?”

“Eh, good enough day, I guess,” Vern replied, taking hold of that pale blue tie Hops had wound around his neck. He levered himself up a little and stole another kiss. “You?”

“Well enough, thank you,” Mr. Grasshopper replied, slipping away when Vern released his necktie. He walked into the kitchen, pouring them each a drink. “I’m rather looking forward to James’ project this evening. I do not know quite as much as I would like to know about Miss Spider, as it happens.”

Vern looked after him with a confused, amused look. “What?”

“Unfortunately, my life story would not have made a narrative that would be compelling to a young boy,” Mr. Grasshopper said from the kitchen. “I advised him to inquire into Miss Spider’s life for material and I do believe he did so.”

Vern grinned broadly. “Yeah? You think Tenebre’s got a better story than you?”

“Oh, certainly,” Mr. Grasshopper said, returning from the kitchen with that silver salver of his, a tall glass of beer and a teacup perched on the tray. “She’s a very well-educated woman and a terribly good conversationalist.”

“An' what, you're not?” Vernon mumbled thanks as he was handed the cold glass, taking a big gulp and sighing contently as the bubbles tingled down his throat, the crisp flavor hitting his senses in the pleasurable way alcohol does after a long hot day. The younger man licked his chapped lips, getting the foam off in an audible 'snap'.

The musician seemed both amused and satisfied from this response, as he took his own seat on the sofa. Picking up the teapot, he poured himself a cup.

“Now, Vernon, I thought you of all people would be aware of the fact I'm not feminine in any way.”

“Pfft! Smart-ass ol' bastard, watch yourself. You knew what I meant. “

“I suppose I did,” Hops took a sip of his steaming drink, letting it, too, hit him. “Mm. Yes. I merely suggested Miss Spider because she has certainly done far more than I. Poor boy, he would have surely failed if he persisted with using me as a subject. And he almost did, you know. James was very adamant, and insisted; however, I couldn't allow him to write such a monotonous description of my youth. Nothing happened, after all. Not the proper thing to write about.”

“Ain’t proper? Why’s that?” Vern asked, sliding down to slouch in the chair. “What, you fuck somebody famous?”

“Certainly not,” Mr. Grasshopper said primly. “And mind your language. I just now said that nothing happened.”

“What? Your whole life, nothing happened?” Vern asked, sipping his drink to hide his smile. “You mean t’tell me you lived all this time and didn’t do nothing?”

“Of course not. I taught some very promising students and enjoyed a very satisfying career as a performer late in life.”

“Bullshit,” Vern said. “You must’a had some wild younger days! Didn’t ya ever go to Vegas? Go join the circus?”

“How absurd.”

“Get hammered at a fancy party and wake up somewhere weird? Throw a drink in someone’s face? Punch somebody’s lights out?”

“Vernon, I do believe you are telling me your life story,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a smile. “Was that last set of questions all for one event?”

Vern grinned. “Big weddings are a hell of a thing, Hops,” he said. “C’mon man, there’s got to be something! I know you, you’re making shit up if you tell me you’ve just been sittin’ here in this little house of yours for years. I bet you used to dance on tables.”

Mr. Grasshopper paused as he lifted his teacup. “Do you, now?” he asked, smiling thinly. “Quite a ridiculous image that would make, don’t you think?”

“Can’t fool me, Hops. That prim-and-proper routine might work on everybody else but you’ve got a wild side.” He grinned, leaning forward. “I bet you told James to bug off because you were so wild it ain’t table talk.”

“Nonsense! Absurd!” Despite his best efforts, the Englishman couldn't quite keep that glint out of his eyes, or that smile off his lips. He looked into his tea, giving it a swirl. “As flattered as I am to hear you have such enthralling fantasies about me, I'm afraid there are nothing to them. No, love, before you came along I was just a boring old gentleman with a passion for the arts.”

Damn, there was something about how Hops lied that was kind of hot. Maybe it was because he knew what was behind the bullshit, which let Vernon not get huffy and actually appreciate the devilish smirks that graced that handsome mug. Oh, the Brooklyn born man had your number, Hops. He knew what secrets you had up your sleeve, mother fucker. So smile all you like, because Vern was able to give them right back.

Which he did, before taking another swig of his beer. Looking through the large mug, he could see the grin was wiped off his lover's face as he raised a brow. Before he could question anything, the grandfather clock went off, alerting them of the hour. Seven! Heavens, they better start off now if they wished to arrive with enough time...

“Ah! I do believe this conversation will have to pick up at another time. I must fetch Mrs. Ladybug so we can be off.” He paused, when he suddenly realized he had not extended an invitation towards his redheaded flame. While he knew he was fond of the boy, just like the rest of them, Theodore wasn't sure if Vernon would be in the mood to walk back to the center after working there all day. “I beg your pardon, what of you? Would you care to join us? Or, since you just got off, would you prefer resting here? It shouldn't be a long event, and I should return in an hour or so. Afterward, you shall have my full and utter attention.”

Vernon Centipede scoffed. As IF he was going to miss THIS! It took effort to hold back his mischievous grin, as he thought about what Hops was walking into. He finished the beer, having a loud sigh of satisfaction, before resting the mug back onto the tray. 

“Naw, I'll go. Kid's been workin' hard, I hear. Sides, better than bein' bored outta my mind here by m'self.”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled at him. “Excellent! I’m certain James will be glad to see you--between the two of us, I think he looks up to you very much.”

Vern couldn’t help but grin a little at that. “Yeah? He’s a good kid.”

Mr. Grasshopper paused at the foyer mirror before going out, a habit Vern had discovered in the past few days. He wasn’t sure it was vanity, necessarily, but Hops did care about how he looked and tended to frown pretty severely when he caught sight of himself, disheveled.

Vern, naturally, made it a mission to dishevel him. 

“C’mon, babe, while we’re livin’?” Vern asked, leaning against the door. Mr. Grasshopper adjusted his monocle and followed him out.

\--

There was a little bit of awkwardness as they went down the street. Vern wasn’t sure if Ladybug had heard it from Hops or if she’d just picked up on it herself from the fact that Hops had been walking around like he was on cloud nine lately, but she dithered a little, trying to find a way for all of them to walk together. Vern knew the old folks were in the habit of going about arm in arm, and though he didn’t feel himself to be a third wheel, exactly, he could see and kind of appreciated her hesitation.

After a little while, Hops offered his arm to her and she took it, smiling inquisitively at Vern. He puffed on his cigar and winked at her, and they walked down in perfect harmony.

The center was hopping and Vern winced a little, wondering what kind of hell he’d have to clean up later. Whole families were there, standing around and talking and drinking punch. 

They spotted Miss Spider and James immediately and went up to them. Mrs. Ladybug made a little fuss over James while Miss Spider smiled coolly at Mr. Grasshopper bowing over her hand. Her beautiful eyes darted between him and Vern and she nodded her head in a rather self-satisfied manner.

“Good evening,” she said. 

“Hey, Doll-face,” Vernon replied, winking at her. They leaned in close enough for them to whisper into each other's ears. “What's the word on when the presentations gonna start? I wanna make sure I get a good view of the old bastard when James shows it off.”

“Soon, Commodore. Though, I must say you are being a bit malveillant to poor Monsieur Grasshopper.”

“What? Nah,” The redhead’s smile widen, “it'll be good for 'im.”

She leaned away, shaking her head-- fool. Moron. But, whatever, it was not her concern. Besides, she found herself agreeing. She had not read or seen the report, herself, but she had heard about it from her dear James. And she did not see why such a professional, a man of such great gifts, would hide it away from the world. 

But again, it was not her place to judge.

As it happened, they didn’t even need to wait until the presentations began. Madame Glowworm came right up to Hops, adjusting her thick eyeglasses and peering up at him. Mr. Grasshopper smiled and bowed to her, asking her in a clear and distinct tone how she fared.

“Oh my!” she cried, hands flying to her mouth before patting her elegant headcarf with a remarkably girlish smile. “Why, it is you!”

Mr. Grasshopper looked befuddled and faintly amused. “Yes, madame, it is I. I thank you for the warm reception.” Watching this with eager eyes, Vern grinned broadly.

“What? Oh, never mind--my goodness gracious, I never would’ve know it was you, Theo!”

Mr. Grasshopper’s smile disappeared instantly and he paled. Vern’s own grin faded and he frowned slightly, keeping an eye on things. Yeah, he wanted the surprise, but he didn’t want Hops to faint! 

“I beg your pardon, Madame Glowworm,” he said shakily. Mrs. Ladybug gave him a curious look. “I--well, I’ve never responded to that nickname. You must have be confused with another.”

“Oh, don’t give me such hogwash! I’m deaf, not blind, you know!” she exclaimed. She grabbed him by the front of his suit and hauled him down to her height, removing his monocle while he was still too surprised to respond. She smiled at whatever resemblance to his youth she saw without his eyeglass. “Ah! There you are! No wonder I never saw it, with you so tall and prim and hiding behind this thing. Now don’t you remember me, dear?”

“Madame!” Mr. Grasshopper cried, snapping upward and taking back his eyeglass. “I’m sure I have no--”

“It’s Sylvia, dear, Adelaide and I used to sing together! That was before I had a husband--Sylvia Thrix! You remember, Theo, we used to run about with Arachne, when we could get her away from you!”

Mr. Grasshopper opened his mouth to object again, before he stopped short and, blinking, leaned down to take a closer look at Madame Glowworm. She gave him a coquettish smile and struck a little pose--Vern could only guess it was the one she’d used to strike on the stage.

Hops suddenly adjusted his mustache and Vern relaxed, knowing he was smiling. “Sylvia?”

“Yes, Theo, of course it’s me!” Madame Glowworm cried. “Oh, why did you never tell me you were living here! We were all absolutely heartbroken when you and Arachne shut the show down!”

“I--but--” Mr. Grasshopper looked over at Mrs. Ladybug, who was completely flummoxed, and Vernon, who was having a coughing fit. “That is to say...I think there’s been a miscommunication.” He cleared his throat. “Where did you get the idea that I am this gentleman?”

“Why, little James’ report, of course,” Madame Glowworm replied. “It’s all right there, Theo, even some pictures of you and Arachne in your prime! You must come take a look, it really is quite special! Oh, to have found you again--Adelaide will simply faint!”

The olive-toned man felt himself go pale, as he was dragged off and away from his female companions and lover. He felt his world shutting down, and it took everything in him to not just collapse on the spot. He swore he heard the shuffling of heels and boots behind him; yet, it didn't fully process in his mind as he was focused on his troubles. Oh dear Lord! James...He...But how? Mr. Grasshopper had been so sure. And- does that mean...?

The Englishman didn't get a chance to finish the thought, as he was suddenly brought to a halt and he stared. He might have found two different hands on his person, but that did not matter to him as his eyes widened and his monocle fell and swayed back and forth like a pendulum forewarning his doom. Before the musician was a picture of himself-- younger and darker, yes, but undeniably him-- sticking out among among the crude drawings and photos of the other students' family members. Theodore went to catch his eyewear, muttering as it constantly slipped out of his grasp, before bringing it to his blurry vision. 

However, before Mr. Grasshopper could say a word, he heard a gasp from his side. His head jerked to the right as Miss Spider exclaimed, who looked far more pale than a mere moments before.

“Il ne pouvait pas l'être!”

Vern stared a little, keeping a hand on Hops’ lower back. Guilt was beginning to gnaw at him--maybe this was a little much?--but he hadn’t been counting on Spider’s reaction. She hurried up to the picture of Hops and his partner dancing side by side and took a close look at it. “Tenebre?”

“Comment, madame?” Mr. Grasshopper asked, clutching at the first words that bubbled up into his mind.

“C’est ma mere!” Miss Spider exclaimed, whirling around with red cheeks. “Et vous etes--” She covered her mouth with her hands. “She spoke of you all the time!” she said, obviously grasping for her composure. “Theo Hopper! I cannot believe--when I was a girl, I--” But she broke off, shaking her head, embarrassed.

“Your mother?” Mr. Grasshopper was visibly astonished, but he looked more closely at Miss Spider for a moment, before his smile reappeared. “Your eyes! Of course--they’re Arachne’s beautiful eyes, I wondered why they were so familiar to me! Oh, my dear Miss Spider, what a coincidence! I haven’t seen dear Arachne in years, I’ve missed her with all my heart! How is she? She is still alive, I pray, but is she well?”

Vern glanced at Mrs. Ladybug, who was staring, wide-eyed, at some of the racier pictures. “Oh, Theodore,” she sighed, turning a little pink. “Why on earth didn’t you tell us? These are wonderful!”

Hops tore himself away from Miss Spider to look at Mrs. Ladybug. “Wonderful?! Dear God, they’re horribly embarrassing!” 

“Whatever for, dear?” Mrs. Ladybug asked. “You look so handsome and so talented! And so happy!”

Mr. Grasshopper shifted his weight. “Well, I--yes, I suppose I was happy, but it wasn’t...it wasn’t music, was it?” he said quietly. “And it’s so incredibly vulgar! No one would want to be remembered for such a thing!”

“Vulgar?” Mrs. Ladybug laughed. “Dearest, it’s not even a tango! You two just look lovely together! Now I know where you got those legs of yours, dearie.” She patted him on the hand. “Not to fret, Mr. Grasshopper, we think it’s simply marvelous!”

“You...Do you really think so?”

The older gentleman was startled as he heard a deep chuckle behind him. Theodore turned around, as he saw his red flamed devil smirking his mischievous smile-- Oh dear, Vernon, now was not the place for those brilliant green eyes to shine with so much warmth and affection. Mr. Grasshopper feared, despite his alarm at having his safe guarded secret exposed, that he would forget himself completely and fall into those pools and drown. It took everything in him to pay attention and not kiss the man, as those sun-baked lips began to open and speak.

“'Do we think so,'” the redheaded janitor repeated, “Hops, ya look like you were too hot to trot! I mean, ya know, you look like you had quite an act. 'Do we think so?' We ain't just sayin' nothin, old man. Don't know how you could be embarrassed when ya looked gor- er, when you looked like'a handsome mug.”

Mrs. Ladybug clasped her hands together and grinned broadly at Vern, obviously delighted. Mr. Grasshopper shifted his weight again and had to look away from those beautiful eyes, back to the images that made a strange combination of pleasure and horror swirl together inside him. 

“When? I had some hopes that I was not an unhandsome man now,” he said quietly, teasing a bit. He cleared his throat. 

Madame Glowworm had wandered off to greet the other families and Miss Spider was much too focused on going through the pictures of her mother and Mr. Grasshopper to say much. Mrs. Ladybug spoke up. “Why didn’t you tell us, dearie?” she said. “I’m sure I’m awfully proud to know such an accomplished gentleman!”

Mr. Grasshopper gave her a sheepish look. “It’s...it seems so very stupid now,” he said haltingly, “but I...it wasn’t serious, you see. Nothing about it was serious. It was absolutely grueling at times, far and away the most demanding work I’ve ever done, but it didn’t satisfy, you understand.”

Mrs. Ladybug tilted her head, squinting her eyes a little.

Mr. Grasshopper sighed. “I wanted to play my violin, not slide about on stage. It was impossible to pursue a real career as a musician while supporting myself so; the hours, the reputation simply wouldn’t allow it. And you must admit it was rather tawdry,” he murmured. 

Personally, Vern liked tawdry. 

“After I quit, years went by and nothing came of it,” Mr. Grasshopper sighed. “Arachne went back to France and we lost touch, and I was quite out of the game...so I suppose I gave it up for nothing. And I didn’t want anyone to know, since it wasn’t at all the kind of appropriate background for a respectable musician to come from.”

“Shit, man,” Vern said, “actin’ like you was a pole-dancer. C’mon, Hops, even if it’s a little dirty dancin’, it’s classy as hell! Have you seen the way people dance nowadays? And not even half so good! You still got some moves?”

Mrs. Ladybug nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, dear, you can still cut a rug quite well! You ought to demonstrate!”

“I certainly shall not!” Mr. Grasshopper replied, although he did that fidgety thing with his mustache. “That is to be kept in the confines of one’s home!” He sighed briefly. “It doesn’t change your opinion of me at all, I hope?”

“Of course not, dearie, “ his female companion cried, “Though I must admit I'm rather impressed. Why, my personal dancing partner is so accomplished! I might just faint from excitement!”

Theodore couldn't help but think she wasn't the only one, though his own was far less positive; the white haired fox felt his heart begin to slow down to normal speeds, as he looked over at his younger lover. Drat to him, still glowing with that smile! 

“Oh, I dunno,” he purred, “I can't help but think my opinion on ya has soared. Knew ya had a wild side.”

“I do believe our views on 'wild' are diverse; however, saying that... It pleases me to no end to hear you both say so.”

Vernon was about to crack a joke about “pleasing” and “just wait till we get home”, when the room because noisy with commotion. Families began to file out the room as they went to the center's auditorium. Mrs. Ladybug clasped onto Mr. Grasshopper as she let out a happy note of approval.

“It must be time for the children to present! Come on, love, let's go get our seats. Vernon, Miss Spider, let us go and see James shine!” 

\--

James’ presentation took up the two minutes allotted to him with the boy’s charming and confident elocution. A year’s loving affection had done wonders to nurse the boy’s remarkable genius for communicating with people and he smiled as the audience clapped. He stepped off the stage to allow the next child to speak and Mr. Grasshopper let out a sigh of relief, smiling at the hand Vernon had placed on his knee halfway in.

The presentation had been mercifully brief, but James had obviously done a great deal of work and had done it out of affection and curiosity. Mr. Grasshopper would be lying to say he wasn’t somewhat annoyed by that insistence the boy demonstrated, but he didn’t quite have the heart to scold him.

When the presentations were over, they trooped back out of the auditorium to meet James. 

The boy looked a little sheepish when he smiled up at Mr. Grasshopper, who gave him a rather stern look. 

“We need to have some words about boundaries, my boy,” he said, nevertheless patting James on the head.

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, dearie,” Mrs. Ladybug said, taking James aside to press red-lipped kisses to the boy’s cheek. “It was a lovely presentation, James! Wonderful job.”

James smiled with a trace of mischief. “I’m glad you liked it! Thank you for coming, everyone.” He looked over at Mr. Centipede for an instant, deciding not to mention the janitor’s influence. Vern was grateful for it--things were a little too new and delicate for Hops to be pissed at him. Even if he hadn’t learned what he’d wanted, he’d at least found out that his loved his man, and Hops might take it in the wrong light if he found out.

“No problem, kid, nice job,” Vern said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Next time you oughta do me!”

“Yes,” Mr. Grasshopper said, clasping his hands behind his back, “that would be fascinating, as a matter of fact.”

“You, Mr. Centipede? What sorts of things have you done?”

“What sorts of things- boy!” The redhead faked a glare, as he leaned over the child. “Jimmy, let me tell ya. I've done all sorts o' things! Train hopped all over the nation, took any job I could-- and some of 'em got pretty screwy. Wassa towel boy for Muhammad Ali, worked my way up the culinary latter in a chilli joint in Ohio, once even flew a giant peach over the ocean blue!”

James laughed at hearing the last one, and Vern shrugged.

“Okay, maybe not the last one—but the others! Now them are the makings of a great story!”

“And I am sure James would be loving to hear them, Commodore.” the boy's mother interrupted them, as she placed a hand on her son's shoulder. Giving a small smile at the Brooklyn born man, the Frenchwoman continued. “Hélas...It is time for us to go home and start getting ready for supper. Say goodbye to your aunt and uncle, ma petite chérie. And Monsieur Centipede, too.”

The boy did as he was bade and in short order the rest of his family left, as well. Mr. Grasshopper was relieved to get away from the center and the eyes of his neighbors. There had been nothing but smiles, certainly, and Madame Glowworm told him that he could expect Madame Bonfamille on his doorstep with an autograph book any day now, but it was all a bit too much to process.

“Are you boys all right to be on your own for dinner?” Mrs. Ladybug asked. Mr. Grasshopper smiled thinly.

“Well, Buggy, if you’re not expecting company--”

Vernon grabbed him around the waist. “Sorry, ma’am,” Vern said, grinning a little. “I wanna have a word with Hops about his dancin’ career...see if he can still shake a tail feather, if ya know what I mean.”

Mrs. Ladybug laughed brightly. “Oh! Then don’t let me interrupt, my dears, go enjoy yourselves!”

Mr. Grasshopper felt his cheeks burning slightly pink. “If you’re sure you will not be lonely--”

“Not a bit, my dearest, have fun!” she said with a cheeky wave, wandering off to her own house.

Vern dragged Hops across the street, the hand on his waist sliding down to his rear as they reached the door. 

“Oh!” Hops said, swatting Vern’s hand away. “Vernon! We are in public!”

“Personal experience tells me ya like that,” Vern replied, bouncing an eyebrow. “C’mon, sugar! Show me what you still got.”

“I'm sorry, Vernon, but I must decline. It's far too late in the evening for such nonsense.” Mr. Grasshopper took out his keys, and opened the door. He waited for his fiery-haired scoundrel to enter his home, closing and locking the door, before continuing. “And I'm sure you would much rather-- Oh!”

The older man was startled as he was suddenly grabbed by the waist and spun around. Theodore tried to find his footing, as the gardener awkwardly danced them to the living room and out of the foyer.

“Much rather do this?” Vern joked. “Yeah, you're right about that, babe.”

“Vernon! Cease this at once!”

Mr. Grasshopper found himself suddenly dipped, as his hips were greeted by his handsome devil's own waist. The younger man kissed his olive-toned flesh, nipping at the musician’s angular jaw. Sun-baked lips left a trail as they kissed the side of Theodore's mustache, before finally taking his soft mouth hostage. Oh dear Lord, this man was a fiend!

And it would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy every moment of it.

After some-odd breathless minutes, Vernon Centipede brought his face so they were still close and bent awkwardly, though far enough so that they both could take in some air. Vern chuckled, and damn him, could Mr. Grasshopper still feel him on his lips!

“Come on, Hops,” he encouraged, his voice a husky rumble as it hit the older man's ears-- causing a small shudder of delight to go through the musician’s body. “Just one dance, sweetheart. I jus' wanna get a taste of whatchoo were like in your hay-day.”

“Are you certain, my love?” Mr. Grasshopper asked, somewhat astonished by Vernon’s strength. He oughtn’t have been, but he was--and he liked it. “I can guide you through it, but you’ll have to put yourself in my hands.”

“Yeah?” Vern asked, nudging his hips against Hops. “Hell, no place I’d rather be.”

Mr. Grasshopper stood himself back up, rolling his eyes slightly. He picked through his collection of records, pulling out a likely album and setting it on the player. As the music began to play, he walked back over to Vernon. “Give me your hand, Vernon, and place yours here--oh! A little more north, Vernon, behave yourself.”

“Ain’t never done that before. Why start now?”

Mr. Grasshopper lifted an eyebrow at him. “Better. There, now, follow my steps. When I move forward, move back with the same foot.” 

Vern stared at his feet, following Hops’ movements. Pretty easy! This was standard stuff, not much more difficult than the kinds of things he’d had to do with bridesmaids at weddings and such. Hops was smooth, nice and tall and upright.

After a few minutes, Vern had the size of the thing. It was a little fruity, but pretty tame. “This it?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Grasshopper replied. “This is almost impossibly sparse, my love.”

“Then show me something, baby! You still got it in ya, don’t ya?”

Mr. Grasshopper paused. “I cannot work against your resistance with so little training, but if you will go slightly limp, I can show you something more remarkable,” he said, in that prim and cool way that was the Hops equivalent of saying ‘them’s fightin’ words.’ Vern loved that tone. That tone meant that shit was about to go down. 

“Yeah? All right, Casanova, I’m all yours.”

Mr. Grasshopper took him at his word, positioning himself in the stiff, elegant pose of the waltz and keeping close to Vern, their legs intertwining as they spun around the room. He twirled Vern out, who made a little “whoa” noise as Hops dragged him back, all long arms wrapped around him, winding about his chest and brushing lightly against his neck before sliding Vern’s arms up to briefly clasp behind Hops’ neck. He spun Vern around again and pulled him back, holding him tight.

“Holy shit,” Vern said. 

Mr. Grasshopper smiled thinly and moved them around again, perfect confidence and consummate control--fuck, it was hot! Vern swallowed thickly as Hops dipped him down, one of his legs sliding between Hops’ and his old man’s hand grabbing the other leg and hitching it up against Hops’ hip.

“Oh, God damn,” Vern choked. Fuck! It should’ve been way too girly, but it was so fucking sexy...

Hops pulled him up again, one long slow slide against his lover’s body, Hops keeping him good and close, touching every part of him yet somehow maintaining that prim and proper pose. But the old man wasn’t exactly unaffected, Vern noted with some pride.

“It is...quite a different experience, when one is truly attracted to one’s partner,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured, turning Vern around again and taking slow, sinuous steps, his arms holding up Vernon’s, the younger man’s back pressed against Hops’ chest and hips. 

“Yeah?” Vernon mumbled, before he was swept back around facing his partner. Before the dancer could initiate another move, he was startled when he felt his red flamed devil take the lead and twist him around. Theodore noted that the sunburnt man stepped forward just as he had instructed earlier. Mm, yes. He shouldn't have been so surprised, Vernon seemed to have the ability to learn physical skills as he goes--making him the perfect jack-of-all-trades. The redhead took the moment to let a hand slide up Mr. Grasshopper's long leg, the sound of the fabric clearly audible to the olive-toned man's sensitive ears. He felt the sensations go straight to his loins, as his lover spoke again. “Damn Hops, I can smell ya. Sex comin' right offa ya. Drivin' me fuckin' crazy!”

“Mm, I apologize.” Mr. Grasshopper spun himself around, as he began to lead them around the room. He continued, as he happily noted Vernon keeping up with him. “Does that mean you wish for us to stop, love?”

“Fuck that! Show me all ya got!”

“All?” Mr. Grasshopper echoed, rather dreamily, pausing to turn Vern around and slide his hands down his lover’s sides. “Very well. Pardon me for a moment--I shall have to change the record.”

“Do ya have to?” Vern asked, bumping his rear backwards. “Kinda gettin’ into this.”

Mr. Grasshopper caught his hand and kissed his knuckles lightly. “An instant is all I require,” he said in the low, warm tone that drove Vern nuts. “It is nearly impossible to tango to a waltz, incidentally.”

Vern felt a little tingle go up his spine and grinned that stupid, excited grin he couldn’t seem to keep off his face when Hops got bold around him. “All right, if that’s what I’ve got to look forward to.”

Hops let him go--and Vern really shouldn’t feel quite so strong an ache at that gesture--to go and swap his records. His old man seemed to know exactly what to go for and set it up quickly, the strings beginning almost immediately in the distinctive tones of the tango. Vern felt his heart start to stammer as Hops, instead of coming over to him right away, stripped out of his coat and removed his cufflinks, rolling his sleeves up to bare his dark forearms.

When he finally looked at Hops’ face, Vern realized he’d been caught staring. Man, the rest of Hops might be older, but that heartbreaker smirk of his hadn’t aged a day--same exact look as the portrait Vern kept folded up on his bedside table. He felt himself getting hot under the collar and almost convinced himself that it was because Hops was sexy and not because Vern was blushing.

Hops took hold of him and taught him a few steps. Vern picked it up about as fast as he’d gotten the waltz, although it was still weird to do the chick part. 

“Now what?” Vern asked, very curious to know what his old man had up his rolled up sleeves.

“Let me lead,” Mr. Grasshopper said, murmuring. “Just follow me, let me move you, and I promise you’ll love the results.”

Shit yeah.

The record must’ve been a series of tangos, because as the new song started, Hops burst into fresh motion and brought Vern along with him. They whirled around each other for the first few steps, before Theodore suddenly slid down Vern’s body, one long leg stretched out behind him as he pressed the other between his lover’s thighs and bent at the knee, hand and chest running down Vern’s abdomen. 

“Oh, fuck--”

Hops was back up in an instant, moving them again, his body a live wire against Vern’s, thrumming with perfect, precise motions to the beat of the music. He was taut and tense and totally on top of things. 

“Never shoulda gotten off the stage, Hops,” Vern said, voice oddly thick, as Hops spun them tightly together, Vern’s leg again appearing on his old man’s hip, Theodore’s hand gripping him nicely. 

The other hand was in Vern’s hair, just the right way for Hops to lean close and whisper in his ear. “I thought you liked the way I got off, my love,” he breathed, before spinning Vern away from him and pulling him back, their fronts pressed tightly together. 

Hops moved them again, back and forth, legs sliding, wrapping around each other with every step. Vern felt for certain at every moment he’d trip and fall, but Hops had him in a good grip and always seemed to move out of the way before they met with catastrophe, reading his own motions and keeping them balanced.

Yeah. Professional. Fuck, the thought that Hops had spent so much time alone, when he was hiding all this!

Hops threw him away again, prowling up behind him and closing his arms across Vern’s chest, one long leg sliding up Vern’s thigh and hip.

“Oh, yes, my darling,” his voice purred in Vern’s ear. “There is no comparison--dancing this way with you is an entirely new experience.” Vern was back in his arms before he had time to blink.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he hissed, finally understanding why people went ape over this dance. Hops was right there, yet just out of reach--it was so sexual and yet he still had that perfect posture, so well-behaved, like he wasn’t fucking Vern with nothing more than those dark eyes and teasing brushes of their clothes and hands.

Mr. Grasshopper merely smiled, finding himself rather fond of the utterances extracted from his lover. While he was used to the vulgar tones of Vernon's in the bedroom, he wasn't used to a dance partner willing to openly praise his sexual aptitude in the movements. Granted, he had always thought he did well to show them off-- he had seen his performances after all, studied them and the audiences reactions to see what was desired. However...at the end of the day, it was an act. A show. He was performing for others to enjoy, rather than for himself. But, oh, this was simply marvelous! For the first time, he felt the movements. He understood what they were portraying and getting across. As the older man brought their bodies close, he could feel the heat and the passion—the carnal titillation that two dancers felt when they actually desired the other. And Vernon, oh his beloved and enticing devil, he was not the only one who could smell the other. As Theodore dipped the younger man, he followed the movement through and found himself mere inches away from that rugged neck. The musk of sweat and arousal filled his senses, and it took everything in him not to break the pose and attack the man's jugular with love and adoration.

The performer brought the man back up to him, and was suddenly surprised to find Mr. Centipede thrust his hips forward, bringing hardened mounds greet each other. Keeping the pose, and smiling that racy and sinful grin of his, he had his palms press and travel up the dove-grey vest of the white haired man. Mr. Grasshopper bit his bottom lip, just the slightest of gestures, as he felt his cotton fabrics rub over sensitive flesh. He gave the softest of moans, before whipping his lover around, continuing the dance. Forward he charged, delighted to see his love keep up with him, and even get into the act as he hammed it up in the slightest. Theodore laughed as Vernon kicked out his legs dramatically.

“Oh dear, I fear you are making a mockery of me now.”

“Hey, if I gotta be the skirt, I'm gonna make sure I'm workin' it.” They twirled; Mr. Grasshopper straightening his back, leg forward, as the gardener leaned and had the performer's leg rest against his erection. Vern used the pose to rub his covered member on Mr. Grasshopper's thigh, his hands back on the older man's chest. “Don't mean I ain't gonna be a slutty sonofabitch, though.”

“Oh! My word,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured, unable to restrain a shiver as Vernon’s warm body pressed against his, moving so suggestively. “I--that is not the word I would use to describe that,” he replied, taking Vernon’s hands again.

“Yeah?” Vern asked, giving Hops’ leg a little rut before his old man moved him again. “What’d you call it?”

“Sensual,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “You are a very sensual man.”

Vern thought about it, grinning as they hit a pause in the beat and he made his move, startling Hops by going down, sliding against his long legs. He’d seen a dancer do that once, and though his form may not have been perfect, he had a feeling that Hops greatly, greatly appreciated it. “Nah,” Vern said, breath puffing against Hops’ fly. “Call a spade a spade. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ slutty. You seem t’like it.”

Mr. Grasshopper made a noise that was absolutely unsuitable for public consumption and pulled Vernon back up. “I find that I adore most of you, actually,” he said, stumbling a little for coherence. Turning Vernon about, he couldn’t quite keep a broad smile off of his face as his lover carefully followed his ornamental steps, back against his chest.

“Well, shit, ain’t you silver tongued?” Vern asked, bobbling his eyebrows and reaching around to grab Hops’ ass and yank his hips closer. Hops made another sweet little noise and a little laugh bubbled up, even as his old man pulled his hands away, twining their fingers together and nuzzling against his neck. 

“This is a remarkably unsubtle tango, my darling,” he said, spinning Vernon around again. “I had always assumed that part of the point of the dance was to increase tension, not to simply grope one another.”

“Then they ain't been doin' it right. 'Sides, I say there's quite a bit a' tension.” Vern had a hand slide down and make its way to Mr. Grasshopper's bulge, giving it a squeeze. The older man felt himself buck a little, despite his best effort to resist. Vernon smirked before continuing. “That is, if your hard on against my backside is any indication. Heh.”

“Mm. I suppose you're right, at that.” Twist, side step. Hip to hip. Turn about, go apart, and back in again. Theodore had those rough hands on him once more as he sighed from pleasure. “You make this very difficult to concentrate, love. I fear I may begin to forget myself and we'll trip over our own two feet.”

“I aim t'please.”

Theodore reflected, as he spun his paramour out once more and enjoyed the delicious sensation of pulling him close once more, that please, Vernon most certainly did.


	13. Die Another Day

The sun was shining brightly and Mrs. Ladybug sat beneath Mr. Grasshopper’s beautiful wisteria arbour with a cup of tea, the owner of the home beside her. It was still morning, though only barely, and she was somewhat astonished to see that Mr. Centipede was not yet about. 

“He is still asleep upstairs,” Mr. Grasshopper explained, when she mentioned it. “Poor fellow has had rather a long week.” He did not mention the fact that it had been rather difficult to disentangle himself from his lover’s grip this morning--Vernon was a bit of a clinger while he slept--but the residual joy from such a wonderful problem came through perfectly clearly in his voice. 

“Oh dear.”

“Not in that fashion, Mrs. Ladybug,” Mr. Grasshopper scolded, hiding his brilliant smile in his tea. “Do behave yourself.”

“I shall do no such thing, Mr. Grasshopper. You are transparently happy and if you will not be vivacious enough to express it, that role shall fall to me. I accept it with all enthusiasm.”

Mr. Grasshopper sighed, less a sound of annoyance than a blissful little huffing noise. “If you insist.”

“And I do, you know.” Mrs. Ladybug was going to say more, when she caught sight of a head peaking around the house. She smiled, recognizing the shine of pale hair. “Oh! And it seems you have a different sort of young man checking you out, dear!”

“Pardon?”

“Turn around, Theodore.”

The home owner did just that, curiosity getting the better of him. His lips curved slightly, as his eyes crinkled from amusement. He could see from his peripheral vision that his female companion was waving the younger man over. The unexpected guest looked visibly flustered; however, Mr. Grasshopper was pleased to see the man continued into his yard all the same.

“Mr. Rabbit,” Theodore began, rising from his chair to greet his neighbor. “An unexpected early visit! That is, I knew we were supposed to meet up today, I had nearly assumed it was to be this evening, as per usual.”

The older man observed that the blue eyes of his companion dart quickly to the side, instantly noting the new flowers that his lover planted earlier in the week. Ah, Mr. Rabbit was quick and his enthusiasm for gardening was quite charming when he wasn't in the competitive spirits. He could easily hear the man mumble appraisal, before shaking his head and forcing himself to become focused.

“Ah, yes. Good morning, Mr. Grasshopper.” His eyes darted to the side, seeing Mrs. Ladybug smiling cheerfully at him. “And to you too, Mrs. Ladybug. I...I wasn't interrupting, was I?”

“Oh, not at all,” Buggy cried, “We would be more than happy to have you share tea with us. Isn't that right, love?”

Mr. Grasshopper nodded. “Quite. Yes, please take a seat. Are you in the mood for a cup of earl grey, sir? If so, I can go fetch a cup and saucer for you.”

“Have you eaten this morning, dear,” the woman interrupted, “do fetch him one of the treats on the counter as well.”

“Oh! No, that is, no thank you. I mean, I have had my fill already.” Rabbit paused, “Though...If you wouldn't mind, I think I would rather enjoy some tea.”

"Certainly," Mr. Grasshopper said, "pardon me." He bowed very slightly--he was among friends, after all, it would be rude to be too formal--and disappeared into his kitchen.

He found Vernon by the coffee pot, bleary-eyed, unshaven, apparently mumbling swear words under his breath. Mr. Grasshopper lightly kissed his temple. "Good morning."

"Good night," Vern replied in a rumble. "What the hell, Hops, what time do you even get up on a weekend?"

"I cannot content myself with lying in bed all day, however charming your company," Mr. Grasshopper said, retrieving a saucer and cup and filling it with dark, hot tea. "Though it was a trial to tear myself away."

"Jesus," Vern said, "talking too much for this early in th'morning. What're ya doing in the backyard?"

"Mrs. Ladybug is here for tea," Mr. Grasshopper explained, taking a few biscuits despite Rabbit's protest as Vernon poured himself a cup of coffee and took a deep, unhesitating drink. "And Mr. Rabbit has just stopped by."

Vern swallowed hastily, before he could spit. "Rabbit?!" he barked. "That pansy-assed son of a bitch?! What the hell is he here for?"

"Vernon," Mr. Grasshopper said, in a voice heavy with disapproval. "He is a perfectly nice man and my particular guest. He has become quite a friend of mine and I do not appreciate your hostility towards him."

"Friends? Hops, he's a dick!"

"He most certainly is not," Mr. Grasshopper sniffed. "He is eccentric, yes, but not at all unkind or even unpleasant, in the general run of things. He...well, he gave me some very well-intentioned advice and showed himself to be honestly and selflessly concerned with my well-being. I shall always appreciate it, although it proved unnecessary."

"He's a fucking cockblock and he gets in th'way when I'm trying to talk to ya!" Vern growled. "Shit, if I didn't know he was hot for Tig's dick, I'd think he wants ya for himself!"

"Do not be absurd, Vernon," Mr. Grasshopper said. He adjusted the placement of the tea cup meticulously. "If you can conduct yourself politely in his presence, I should be delighted if you wished to join us," he said.

"Oh, you bet your ass I'm coming out there," Vern said, "soon as I get a shower. Like hell am I gonna let him shag up my man!"

“Nonsense.” The older man couldn't help himself as he leaned in for another kiss. This time enjoying the feel of his lover's stubble on his lips. “Do enjoy.”

Mr. Grasshopper was amused as he heard his gardener mumble under his breath about how he “would if you would join me”. Poor old boy, he will have to make it up to him. Besides, it would be deceitful to say the notion wasn't a pleasurable one.

But that was a thought for another time. And Theodore was quick to get the vision of his attractive younger man wet and steaming out of his head, as he turned and headed back towards his garden. He was pleased to see Rabbit was sitting comfortably in the chair across from Mrs. Ladybug. Rosie smiled brightly, as the home owner set the drink down in front of the fair-haired man and he took his seat.

“I did not miss too much, I hope?”

“Oh, not at all, love!” Buggy said, practically bouncing in her seat from excitement. “That is, except for Mr. Rabbit here saying he had to cancel his plans with you this evening.”

“Nothing awful has come up, I pray?”

“Nothing of the kind! Why, he was just saying--”

“Buggy!” Mr. Grasshopper tapped his companion on the knee, more playful than rude. “Do the the man give his own explanations. I'm sure he is quite able.” He turned to his other side, where the teacher was looking into his tea blushing. “Please, Mr. Rabbit, do go on. Mrs. Ladybug can be a bit too excitable at times. By her behavior, I assume you have a change of plans because of a certain Mr. Tigger?”

Rabbit laughed slightly, as he brushed a hand through his neat hair. Still not looking at the older man, he smiled even as he tried to hide it.

“Ah, yes, I'm afraid so.” Both Theodore and Rosie could readily tell this was not the case. “Tigger, he, well... He was very insistent about me canceling all plans tonight. I tried to tell the blasted fool I had previous engagements, but he was very...adamant that I had to change them. Why, he even got on his hands and knees and begged it of me. Wrapped himself around my legs and wouldn't let go until I agreed!”

“Oh my, “ Mrs. Ladybug couldn't help but giggle. “What a persistent young man!”

"To say the least! Can you imagine, wrapping himself around me and pleading?" Rabbit made a scoffing noise that attempted to be more dismissive than it was and Mrs. Ladybug and Mr. Grasshopper exchanged smiles. 

"Utterly unseemly," Mr. Grasshopper murmured. 

"I know! That's exactly what it was! I mean, really, what could I do? He was begging for me and I...well, I'm afraid I flustered and agreed before I knew what I was doing. And then, he..."

Mr. Grasshopper lifted his eyebrows significantly. 

"Yes, dearie?" Mrs. Ladybug asked breathlessly. Mr. Grasshopper had neglected to mention to Mr. Rabbit that he could be perfectly free around Mrs. Ladybug, who, though when she was quite forward with friends, would perish in flames before she revealed an explicit confidence to strangers. Obviously she had already worked her magic on Mr. Rabbit and they were fast becoming friends. The impulse appeared to wrap his arm around the bench behind her back and he did so, smiling thinly.

"Well, he kissed me before I could throw him off. On my cheeks, I mean," Rabbit added, those selfsame cheeks darkening. "It was perfectly appalling and I was mortified, even if he did do it in my living room. So as you can imagine, tonight is going to be such a catastrophe."

"Oh, piffle," Mrs. Ladybug replied, waving a hand at him. "I am perfectly certain you shall have a lovely time. What do you intend to do?"

"I have no idea," Rabbit replied. "It could be anything! I'm living in dread!"

Mr. Grasshopper smoothed back his hair. "Surely you could call it off? I would offer my telephone if you require it."

It was Mrs. Ladybug's turn to put her hand on his knee, an unmistakable though nonverbal "shut up!"

"Oh, that wouldn't do anything," Rabbit sighed, a perfectly unconvincing sound of weary resignation in his voice. "If he thought I were ill, he'd only try to nurse me."

"Why, you could simply say that you are not interested," Mr. Grasshopper said, smiling innocently. "I am sure he would understand."

Rabbit waved his hand. "No, no, it would do no good. He is too determined. I'm resigned to my fate. I'm doomed to it, what is the point of resisting?" He sounded altogether delighted with the prospect of his doom. 

The conversation meandered a bit from there, Mrs. Ladybug telling a thoroughly diverting anecdote about one of her children's charities that Mr. Rabbit appeared to find thoroughly and genuinely engrossing, laughing as she went on. Mr. Grasshopper sat aside, smiling slightly, when he suddenly felt a pair of warm lips press rapidly against the back of his jaw and tug his earlobe, a sudden gesture so quick he only reacted when it was over. 

"Hey kids," Vernon said, in a low tone that Mr. Grasshopper couldn't but appreciate, even over his suddenly thundering pulse.

Rabbit looked at the man over Mr. Grasshopper's shoulder with a suddenly cool expression. Perhaps he ought to have mentioned his recent joy--Mr. Rabbit must think him backsliding into his addiction (which he certainly was, though under pleasanter conditions), or worse, must think Vernon was taking advantage (which was also true, for Vernon was certainly taking perfectly lovely advantage of him and permitting each of them all sorts of liberties, this last touch only the merest drop in the bucket).

But in public, Vernon? For heaven's sake!

"Mr. Centipede," Rabbit said, looking the gardener up and down with unconcealed contempt.

“Rabbit,” Vern threw back, though Mr. Grasshopper could hear in his voice that there was something else he wanted to say. No doubt a colorful and equally rude name for his guest. Theodore was at least grateful his redheaded devil was trying to remain behaved. Oh! Strike that, not so behaved after all, the musician couldn't help but think, as Vernon's hand rested on his shoulder and caressed it.

The man continued.

“An' hey there, Buggy. What's shaken? Miss anything excitin'?”

Mrs. Ladybug smiled widely as she noted the young man pull up a chair. She could see his eyes twinkled with mischief as he debated just where to place his seat—no doubt wanting to force his way between Mr. Rabbit and his old man. At the end she found herself giddy as he choose between her and Mr. Grasshopper instead, both scooting their chairs over to make room.

“Oh, Vernon! So nice to finally see you up and about! I almost feared you had become comatose or greatly ill. What's wrong, dear, not getting enough sleep?”

The olive-toned man threw her a look, even as the gardener laughed. “Shit, jus' dive right in there. Naw, jus' don't like wakin' up early when I don't have to. One hellova week.”

"Oh, yes," Rabbit muttered darkly. "We know what a hard worker you are. Part of your thoughtful nature, isn't that right?"

Mrs. Ladybug looked quite confused and Mr. Grasshopper opened his mouth to disabuse Mr. Rabbit of his incorrect notion when Vernon put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

"Yeah, real thoughtful," Vern said, deliberately baiting Rabbit. "Hops thinks so. Ain't that right, sugar?"

"I--Vernon, there has been a misunderstanding--"

"The only thing I don't understand is how you can bear this," Rabbit said, giving Hops a sad look. "It's so disheartening. I really--but it's not my place to say, maybe, but I thought you were feeling better."

"What are you trying to say, mac?" Vernon asked, infamous redheaded temper already coming out to play. "You got something for me?"

Rabbit sniffed. "I'm sure you already know," he said coldly. "Scrupling about the feelings of others has never been your strong suit, after all, so I suppose you don't feel any guilt about meddling here, no matter who you harm."

"Oh, you got feelings, huh?" Vern snapped, squeezing Hops' leg harder. This little fucker had some kind of nerve, talking like that to Vern's face! If Hops and Mrs. L weren't here, Vern'd punch him in his stupid buck toothed face! Shit, what if Rabbit had been using Tigger as an excuse to see Hops?

Fuck that!

"Mr. Rabbit, I have not had a chance to explain--" Hops said, placing his hand on top of Vern's. Vern couldn't help an angry smile of savage satisfaction; that's right, Hops was keeping a hold on him!

"I don't know what all you've discussed," Rabbit said, "but...well, I could see it hurt, but you seemed to be doing so well--"

"What hurt?" Vern asked. "What we're you doing well? You okay?"

"Oh dear," Mrs. Ladybug said.

"Yes, yes, I am perfectly fine, everything is perfectly fine, but you see I--"

"You really ought to have kept away from him," Rabbit said with a doleful shake of his head. "He's simply no good, certainly not good enough for you."

Hops grabbed him and held on tight, which was a pretty God damn good thing because Vern was seeing red. "YOU!" He bellowed, jerking towards Rabbit. "YOU, ya motherfucking bitch-assed fucker! You're the reason he was avoiding me!"

The paler man flinched back in the slightest, his general disposition inclined to a more fidgety nature; however, his fear was quick to turn to anger as he glared. Putting his hands on the table, he stood up to look down on the man across from him.

“I don't think my involvement in anything is what's the matter with the big picture here. You...I will admit I don't find myself being a member of your fanclub, and I'm sure you have the same feelings as I do--”

“You bet your pasty ass I don't like you--”

“Oh! Will you LET me finish, you lug-headed brute!” Rabbit's forwardness was enough to surprise all of them at the table. “I don't like you, but my feelings aren't relevant here. It's dear Mr. Grasshopper we must consider! How could you toy with him like this? He says you are such a great and dear friend, but if you don't feel anything towards him...It's not my business, I know, and usually I am not one to get involved in other's affairs; but I consider him a...friend. And I don't have many friends, Mr. Centipede. And if I have to get nasty in order to help him, when it comes to dealing with you, then so be it!”

“Don’t feel anything?! You stupid--fucking--agh! You’re a friend, huh?” Vern growled. “Let me tell you something--”

“That is enough,” Mr. Grasshopper said firmly, his grip on Vernon’s arms never relaxing. “Vernon, calm down. Mr. Rabbit, there has been a terrible misunderstanding. Vernon is not toying with me. We are in love.”

“I can see that he’s very tactile, but--”

“Mr. Rabbit,” Mr. Grasshopper said, releasing Vernon to take his hand and lace their fingers together. Vern was still fuming, but he simmered down enough to just glower at Rabbit. “He loves me. I admit that I can scarcely comprehend it myself, but I believe it to be true.”

Rabbit opened his mouth again to argue for reason, but he paused, looking at Mr. Grasshopper. His friend had looked so pale and so miserable in recent days, especially when his gardener was about the place. He’d been distracted and had been visibly restraining himself while they had a chat, clearly trying to focus on his guest even as he watched with hopeless eyes as this brute he was so enamoured of trudged away.

Now, he looked...well, transcendent, nearly. He was full to the brim with happiness, his health returned to him. Rabbit had thought he’d kicked his infatuation with Centipede, but obviously it was quite the opposite!

“And Vernon, your jealousy is totally unwarranted,” Mr. Grasshopper continued. “Mr. Rabbit doesn’t see me in the least romantic light--correct?” the older gentleman asked, looking at Rabbit.

Rabbit turned red. “Oh! No, um, certainly not!”

Vern glowered at him. “Babe--”

“It was quite right of him to advise me as he did,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “I would have come to such a conclusion myself, if he had not suggested it. What else would have been a safe and sane option, when I love you so dearly and did not believe you could love me?”

“Hops,” Vern said, in a voice that was both tender and embarrassed. “Babe, ya can’t--”

“There is no reason for you to be so jealous,” Mr. Grasshopper added. “I cannot fathom why you would wish to be angry. You must behave yourself, for my sake if none other.”

Vern grumbled but settled back in his seat, a faintly pleased grimace on his face. What could he say? Hops gettin’ gooey did stuff to him.

Mrs. Ladybug sighed. “Oh, my lands,” she said. “You young people are so prone to excitement. Honestly, where do you find the energy?”

Rabbit, too found his way to sitting back down, and he was embarrassed to say he had certainly been worked up. Blushing, though this time from embarrassment, he grabbed onto his tea and sipped it. Just to give himself something to do. Mr. Grasshopper, with fingers still intertwined with his lover's, sat back down. He was very pleased to see things didn't get out of hand. Turning to Mrs. Ladybug, he cleared his throat before speaking once more.

“Now, we were discussing Martha's latest exploits earlier. But I must say, I don't think I have heard you say a single thing about Andrew in the longest of times! Buggy, when is the lad up to?”

“Andrew?” Vernon interjected, confused as hell.

“Oh! One of my children, dear. Andrew is the baby of the bunch.”

“You have kids?” It had never dawned on him that the woman, the wild sex crazed gal that she was, would have had a child or two about. Especially the fact she was a married woman once. Huh, funny how he never put too much thought into it before.

“Oh yes! Many children! Ten, to be exact!” Ten?! Hot damn! Buggy was busy! “Though, they are all grown up and far too busy to be seen around their mother.”

“Which is truly a shame. They ought to come and visit during the holidays,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “Isn’t Millicent a school teacher?”

“Yes! Elementary school!”

“You don’t say?” Rabbit asked, perking up as the conversation revolved around. “At what school?”

As the others chatted, Vern found himself quickly bored with the conversation. The company was fine, aside one noticeable outlier, but he didn’t much care about school kids or Mrs. Ladybug putting the pressure on for grandkids. Rabbit had angried up his blood and it was only Hops’ hand in his that was keeping him cool. 

He rubbed his thumb gently against the hollow of Hops’ palm, smiling as his old man squeezed his fingers. Ah well, sitting out in the sunshine wasn’t a bad way to spend his time. He knocked his cap down a little and let himself relax.

Later, when Rabbit had been shown out with a minimum of fist-shaking and Mrs. Ladybug had hurried off to visit the hospital, Vern was busily fixing a wobbly shelf in the pantry and Mr. Grasshopper was playing a little something on the violin. Vern frowned as the doorbell interrupted the music--damn, he’d been close enough to done to get an eyeful of that--and Hops stopped in mid-note. Hops’ place was freakin’ Grand Central station, for all the coming and going there was today!

Mr. Grasshopper wasn’t particularly pleased by the interruption, either, but put down his instrument and smoothed back his hair before answering the door.

“Why, hello, my lad!” Georges Hautecourt cried. “You’re looking awfully better! Finally kicked the last of it, eh?”

“Ah, good afternoon,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “Would you care to--”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any plans, my boy? We’ll need a bit of time to pick out just the right girl!” The barrister handed him another folder, wobbling in through the door. “I found a few more options under a pot of tea, if you’ll credit it, and I would be remiss not to mention them!”

Mr. Centipede, far too curious for his own good, decided to leave the pantry shelf where it was. Eh, he'll finish it later. He entered the living room, sleeves rolled up from his labor, as he removed his hat from his back pocket and slapped it on his head. The redhead arrived just in time to see the much older man falter into the room, Hops right behind him just in case he fell or stumbled. Mr. Hautecourt smiled wildly, bringing his cane into the air and nearly smacking the olive-toned man in the face.

“Ah! Your gardener, hello there, my boy!”

Vernon had run into him from time to time, though he wasn't exactly buddy buddy with the old coot. But he seemed like a fun enough guy, better company than some of the other neighbors. Vern winked as he stood behind one of the cushioned chairs, leaning onto it.

“Hey there, Gramps. How you doin'?”

“Oh! Couldn't be better! Especially with the exciting prospects for your employer here!”

“Yeah?” The redhead smiled, as he looked up towards his old man, who was trying to look composed. Vern saw right through it, and couldn't help but be even more curious. “Whatcha cookin' up for ol' Hops?”

"Why, just take a look there!" Mr. Hautecourt said, throwing himself into a seat and pointing with his cane at the folder in Hops' hand. "We are making a selection for the next Mrs. Grasshopper!"

Vern's mouth popped open for a mere second before he assumed an evil grin, eyes crinkling with amusement as he looked at Hops' embarrassed grimace. He took the portfolio from Hops, who gave him a desperate look, opening it and paying through pictures and meticulous write ups of attractive middle aged and even young women. "Well, well, well, Hops, didn't tell me you was looking for a girlfriend!"

"As you know very well, I am perfectly satisfied with--"

"Girlfriend?" Mr. Hautecourt laughed. "Oh, my boy...when you get to be Theo's age, you look for something a little more permanent! We need to find him a wife!"

Mr. Grasshopper clasped his hands behind his back, a sure sign that he was trying to keep himself collected. "Mr. Hautecourt, I fear I have not been quite honest with you. I have no interest in women or in marriage at this time--or any time."

"Now, my boy, I know Mrs. Ladybug did you a hard turn, but--"

"Ladybug?" Vern interjected, laughing. Shit! The old lawyer had no idea! 

"Sir, Mrs. Ladybug and I were never romantically involved," Mr. Grasshopper said simply. 

"What?" Mr. Hautecourt asked. "But your heartbreak!"

"It was another matter," Mr. Grasshopper said, blushing. Did Vernon have to be right there, listening to this? He didn't need to know how Theodore had pined!

"No Mrs. Ladybug! Thank heavens that I'm a discreet fellow and didn't say a thing but to you! I'd hate to drag such a lovely woman's name through the mud! The neighborhood shall be astonished to know you are not together!" 

Georges slapped his knee. "No Mrs. Ladybug! Why, then you've been alone all these years, you poor chap! We must set you up at once! I'm sure you are a little nervous about playing the field, but these are excellent girls and would never be unkind about your lack of experience. No, they have no interest in these flashy sorts, they like a good, honest, well-established man who can have a decent conversation!" Mr. Hautecourt ran a hand over his hair with a little grin. "In fact, I'm flattered to say that they asked if I was inquiring for myself!"

"I prefer the company of men," Mr. Grasshopper said delicately, wishing that Vernon would not look at him with such an expression of glee. Bloody bounder!

"Why, don't we all, from time to time! But that's just nerves, my lad, and you'll come around! No replacement for a woman's touch, after all!"

"I am one of nature's bachelors," Mr. Grasshopper said more desperately. "Not the marrying sort."

"Really, Theo, you're needlessly worried! Take a look at some of these girls and I'm sure that your heart will start pounding and you'll see what I'm on about!"

"I am gay," Mr. Grasshopper said in an exhausted tone, the confession wrenched from him only because more obscure references would not do.

"I know that! You're a good, light-hearted sort, once you've stopped being stiff--but has that to do with anything?"

By this time Mr. Centipede was howling with laughter. He was gripping his sides, as he tried his best not to fall over completely from his mirth. Mr. Hautecourt smiled, though he seemed confused by the youngest man's mirth. Theodore, however, was abashed. It took everything in him not to pinch his nose from frustration or hide his brow in his hands. 

“Come on now,” Georges said, leaning forward, “What's the big hoot and holler about, boy? I dare say you might split at the seams!”

“Jus'...Oh God, give me a moment, geeze.” Vernon continued with his laughter, as he tried to catch his breath. Wiping away tears, he did his best to compose himself enough so that he wouldn't just start up again. He couldn't even LOOK at Hops, or else he would break out into chuckles. Taking a deep breath, the redhead tried to give the most innocent smile he could.

Mr. Grasshopper found himself the slightest bit terrified, if he was to be honest.

“The joke,” Vern began, “ is all of this. Com'mon, Hops ain't into looking for no lady 'cause he got some candy already, if ya catch my drift.”

“'Candy'?”

“Yeah, you know. The 'sweet stuff'. The goods. Some sugar.”

“Oh, dear God,” Mr. Grasshopper said, giving into his urge and removing his monocle to rub his eyes. “Mr. Centipede is saying I am spoken for."

"You are?" Mr. Hautecourt said, "Good heavens, man, why didn't you say something? Here I’ve been, running about trying to get you sorted when you already have a lady-love! Well, who is she? I need to make my apologies for trying to steal away her gentleman!”

Vernon grabbed Mr. Grasshopper around the waist, still snickering. “Oh, by your hope of heaven--” Mr. Grasshopper began, protesting in a quiet voice.

“You’re lookin’ at ‘er,” Vern said. “Or more rightly, him.”

“You’re her?” Mr. Hautecourt said. “Well, now I’m entirely confused! What are you going on about?”

“I’m sayin’,” Vern said slowly, “Hops is mine. All mine, right? So don’t try to shack him up with no dames! ‘Cause I love him and I don’t care if I was taught not to hit girls--I’ll give anyone who puts the moves on him a black eye.”

Mr. Hautecourt blinked. “Theodore! Is this true? All this time...?”

Mr. Grasshopper cleared his throat. “Yes. It is--Vernon is quite right. I am his, and I do not wish to marry any women, despite your kind concern for my connubial potential.”

“Why, why didn’t you simply tell me you are an invert?” Georges cried. “Here I’ve been making an ass of myself! ‘Oh no, Adelaide, he just needs a good woman--oh no, Adelaide, of course he’s just out of the game!’ I wish you’d said something, Theodore, and I might’ve brought you the right sort of portfolio!”

“...you have those sorts of portfolios?” Mr. Grasshopper asked. Vernon’s grip tightened. “Not that I wish to see them.”

“Well, you could knock me over with a feather,” Mr. Hautecourt said. “All these years. You might’ve said something!” 

He had said something. Many things, up to and including just now. 

“I apologize,” Mr. Grasshopper said.

Mr. Hautecourt sighed. “Ah, well, at least you’re happy--you are happy, aren’t you?”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled rather sappily. “Blissfully, transcendentally so,” he said, leaning a bit into Vernon’s grasp. 

“Well, that’s all that matters,” Mr. Hautecourt said. “All these poor girls, though! I shall have to find more eligible bachelors. Do you suppose that young fellow down the way--Babbit, Wabbit, something like that--is single? He seems like a possibility.”

“I cannot possibly advise it,” Mr. Grasshopper said in the same instant as Vernon’s “Yes!” Mr. Grasshopper frowned at his grin and said, “No, I believe he is entering a relationship now.”

“Or gettin’ ‘entered,’” Vern mumbled.

Mr. Hautecourt puffed out a deep breath. “There you are, then,” he said. He pushed on his knees, struggling to get to his feet. “Well, if you’re quite sure, then I ought to betake myself down to Adelaide.”

“I hope this does not change our friendship,” Mr. Grasshopper said warily. 

“What?” Mr. Hautecourt laughed. “No, not at all! Nothing of the sort, my boy, although I suppose I shall have to get used to the idea that you aren’t waiting for Ms. Right to come along! No, I’m only darting off because if I know Adelaide, she’ll want her money as soon as I know the story!”

“Her money?” Mr. Grasshopper asked wonderingly. Vern felt himself close to laughter again. 

“Oh yes,” Mr. Hautecourt waved illustratively. “She was sure you were...how did she put it...fond of musical theater! I never credited it until just now. Had a bit of change riding on you, my boy, but that’s the risk you take!”

Vern was going to cry.

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Grasshopper didn't know what else to say, though a part of him internally frowned at the thought of his life being a bet for others. He could, however, feel his lover shake next to him as he tried to control his mirth. He didn't know whether to be insulted or pleased, but decided it didn't much matter as he snaked his arm from around his redheaded devil and made his way to the door to see his guest off.

“All the same, thank you for your concern. But, as you can see, I am quite pleased with the way things are.”

Mr. Hautecourt threw one last glance over his shoulder at the sunburnt man in the living room. He smiled, before looking back up at the lankier man.

“You know, my boy, I think you just might be.”

And with that they waved goodbye, as the ninety-year old coot wobbled down the steps. The musician made sure we was safely down the stairs before closing his door, and locking it. He sighed, as his lover in the other room finally let out the laughter he had been holding in all along. Mr. Grasshopper glared at the man, even as he made his way to the sofa.

“I'm simply tickled pink that you find so much enjoyment from my embarrassment.” The olive-toned home owner plopped down rather ungracefully, weary from the experience. “Really, Vernon, must you egg things on?”

“Hey now, “ Vern stopped his fit, putting up his hands defensively, “Hey, I helped you out! He wasn't getting' the picture, n' obviously you were bein' too subtle.”

“I plain right-out told him of my inclinations! Multiple times, and for years!”

“Yeah, but did you have a sexy as hell sonofabitch wrap their mitts around ya and almost dip ya there n' make out with ya?”

“Er, well, no. Obviously not.” Theodore paused, “where you REALLY planning on going that far?”

The grin on the gardener's face was enough to tell him that he would have done that, and then some. Oh, Mr. Grasshopper was turning crimson from the very thought alone! He sighed once more, but his lips were quick to curve as his lover sat on the armrest next to him. The younger man nuzzled his white hair, and Theodore couldn't help but feel some relief.

“Well, I suppose it's taken care of now. And that's enough to be grateful for.”

“Yeah it is. As fuckin' hilarious as it was, I ain't gonna jus' let ya go off an' marry no stinkin' broad. Not now, and not for a long ass time after now, neither.”

“Oh?” Mr. Grasshopper inquired, “And just when will it be suitable for me to marry another?”

“When you're rotting in the ground, and the worms are gettin' at ya. And even then, it's up for debate.”

“Very romantic.”

“Hey, what can I say? It's why ya love me.”

And as the redheaded man tilted his old man's head, to steal away the musician's every last breath...Mr. Grasshopper found that this was an undeniable truth. And really, he would have it no other way.


	14. Epilogue: The Living Daylights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternative continuation of chapter 12--a smutty epilogue, in all truth. Enjoy.

“I aim t'please.”

And please he did, as the sunburnt man broke his pose altogether and pushed forward. Vernon snaked his hands around the olive-toned nape and to his lover's white tufts, as he crashed their lips and bodies together. Mr. Grasshopper found himself losing his footing, as the back of his legs hit the piano stool. The gardener seemed to notice this, as he guided his old man to sit down safely. Theodore didn't get a moment to feel relief, as Vern straddled him lap and took his mouth hostage once more.

Vernon kissed him with a hunger Theodore had not in the least anticipated, though he reciprocated with all his heart. He slid his hands into Vernon’s hair, shifting slightly as Vernon ground their hips together. 

“God damn it, baby,” Vernon purred, breaking away to kiss down Mr. Grasshopper’s neck, pulling away his tie. “Talk about hiding your light under a fucking bushel!”

“You truly like it so much?” Mr. Grasshopper murmured, well-pleased by Vernon’s enthusiasm. “I...I would’ve thought you’d find this sort of thing not to your taste.”

“Lemme tell ya what’s not to my taste,” Vern growled, hands slamming down on the piano keys as he pinned Hops in. The older man jumped, startled. 

“Oh, let me--” He reached for the piano cover and Vern gave him a nice slow grind, grinning as those long, clever hands of his stuttered and his expression took on an unmistakably aroused cast. 

“Nope. Now listen here,” Vern said, “what ain’t to my taste is watching ol’ Ladybug get all of your sweet ass on the dance floor. I don’t give a fuck if you two wanna shake it, but I better get equal opportunity or better, y’hear?”

Mr. Grasshopper laughed a soft, breathless laugh. “My darling,” he murmured, voice only quivering a bit as Vernon nibbled down his jugular vein, teasing him with the intoxicating, dangerous pressure of his teeth. “I can assure you that it would never...ever cross my mind, to dance with Mrs. Ladybug as I just danced with you.”

“Good,” Vern mumbled against his neck, rewarding him with a little love bite that made his lover gasp. “Shit, that was hot...no fucking wonder you had a million dames chasin’ your ass, Hops.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Mr. Grasshopper said, kissing Vernon’s mouth slowly. Another bang on the keys made him jump and he broke the kiss, glancing at the open windows and light curtains. “Darling, it is getting rather dark out and these curtains are not thick--I am sure we will soon be perfectly visible to the street below. Perhaps we ought--oh, Vernon, do listen, I--mmm...o-ought to move elsewhere?”

“Wanna fuck you over the piano,” Vernon rumbled, the words searing straight down Theodore’s spine and making him throb in his trousers. “Smellin’ like sex and half-dressed in that white suit a’yours, lookin’ like a dirty angel and beggin’ for it.”

“Oh my word!” Theodore gasped. “Vernon, the windows are open! Anyone might’ve heard--!”

“Gonna hear you screamin’ in couple’a minutes,” his lover promised, hands sliding down to tease open Theodore’s fly. 

“Oh dear--oh, really now--we ought to--” Theodore had to stop and try to collect his wits, because there was a significant portion of him that was convinced that all he ought to do was to lie back and let the man do as he pleased. “A-At least the sofa, my love, but not where--oh, I do mean to say...what if James takes an evening stroll?”

“Come off it, Hops, you n' me both know the kid ain't allowed to roam the streets after dark on his own.” 

“Yes, well...the neighbors!”

Mr. Grasshopper felt Vernon chuckle against his neck, as the younger man finished undoing the white haired fox's fly. He moaned as the younger man slipped his hand under the strap of his briefs, and found his hardened member. Theodore almost forgot his qualms, lost to the coarse fingers wrapped around him—hot and rough as the hand gave him a playful squeeze-- when Vernon spoke up again, bringing the reality of the situation back to him. “Ya know, if you're loud enough we ought to sell tickets. You can hit some sexy notes, sugar.”

“Oh dear God, Vernon,” he groaned, half-aroused and half-distressed. “You’re so dirty. Please, my love, just--”

“I think it’s kinda kinky, babe,” Vern grinned. “Don’t ya think?”

Mr. Grasshopper decided that little enough would get done if he didn’t do it himself. He wrapped both hands around his lover’s body, cupping the back Vernon’s head with one hand and the small of his back with the other. He kissed Vernon hard, those lovely strong hands working him roughly.

“Hold on,” he murmured, the only warning he gave before sliding off of the piano bench onto his knees, taking Vern with him. 

“Oh, shit, baby,” Vern said against his mouth, voice heavy with lust, obviously amused by his lover’s initiative. The redheaded man kissed his jaw, relishing Hops’ shudder, even as Hops laid him out on the floor and undid his zip and buttons. “What’s this thing you have for getting me on my back, sugar? ‘m I gonna come home ‘n’ find you crackin’ a whip one of these days?”

Mr. Grasshopper nuzzled against his neck, kissing him as he pulled Vernon’s prick out and fisted him eagerly. “I’m flattered you think of this as your home, my darling,” he murmured, sighing as Vernon squeezed him. “Oh, my love...”

Vern couldn’t help but laugh, even as it turned into a deep groan. “Turned that one around, I gotta hand it to you,” he murmured. 

“Besides,” Mr. Grasshopper breathed, “I mislaid my riding crop years ago.”

The implications were enough to send the gardener into a frenzy. God damn, Hops. How did Vern ever think this old man a stiff, proper, and boring gentleman when Mr. Grasshopper was able to say things like that? And while Vernon wouldn't call himself the kinkiest sonofabitch on this side of town, he had to admit...The thought of coming home—correction, coming to the HOUSE-- and finding his old man, legs crossed, waiting for him with whip in hand as he smacks it with impatience....Oh shit, that shouldn't have been such a turn on!

Those thoughts, however, were soon replaced as dexterous digits made their way to undoing suspenders. The fabric snapped as the musician pulled them over his shoulders. The sunburnt man smirked as he noted how his lover made sure to undo every button of his shirt-- no doubt not wanting to have to pick up and resew them on like he had to do countless times before. Well, if he was showing restraint...that just meant the ginger wasn't doing his job! And shit, nobody could ever call Vern Centipede a slacker!

A coarse hand still gripping the olive-toned prick of his lover, Vernon's thumb brushed the tip of the head of the member. His thumb massaged the smooth skin, as his other thick fingers remained around the warm cock. Fuck, was he scorching in his hands! The redhead gave the shaft a pump as he noted the man over him tremble in his movements.

“Shit fuckin' Christ, Hops, your pecker is on fire tonight! Shit! I knew the tango was suppose t'be hot, but I think this is the hottest your dick has been!” He pumped the older man some more, enjoying the moan it evoked. “God damn. I gotta get your ass out someplace n' get you dancin' more often.”

Theodore shuddered and made a rather pathetic little noise, rocking his hips towards that tight hand and the fingers that teased him in just the right way to make him lose his mind. He dove for Vernon’s lips, locking their mouths together in a hungry tangle. When he had better control of himself, he kissed Vernon again more gently, even as he moved to bite and suck a bruise on his lover’s neck.

“Exhibitionist,” Theodore accused, swallowing thickly as his spare hand pulled apart the panels of Vernon’s shirt and he devoted himself to the task of kissing down his lover’s throat and chest. “You shall be disappointed, my love,” he sighed, tracing light touches against the hard flesh of his partner. “I’m afraid I will be quite chaste if we were to dance in pub--!” 

He dropped his head to Vernon’s collarbone, bloody well mewling, forehead pressed heavily against his sun-reddened skin as his lover toyed with him, all-too clever fingers touching him in ways and places that threatened to make him scream, passers-by be damned! 

“Doubt that,” Vern grinned. “I know ya, babe...you’re gonna get the both of us all hot and bothered, even if you’re gonna pretend you’re all well-behaved and you don’t wanna screw like bunnies.” 

Theodore pulled himself together, lifting himself back up to some level of coherence. He could make this man putty in his hands--what in the name of heaven was he doing, panting uselessly over him, when he could be making his favorite instrument sing? He redoubled his attentions to Vernon with one hand, the other tracing lightly over his beloved’s skin, pinching here and stroking there, settling briefly on his hip before scratching through the rough fabric that covered his inner thighs. He mouthed at Vernon’s neck and shoulders, putting his lips and tongue to work and making careful use of his mustache against the low, soft hollows and fleshy peaks of his body. Vernon hadn’t said that he liked the judicious application of Theodore’s facial hair, but he was perceptive enough to pick up on the fact that his beloved very much enjoyed the texture against his more sensitive parts. 

He stroked Vernon slowly, smiling despite himself to feel how hot and thick his lover was in his hand. “I thought you had a second hand somewhere,” he murmured, pleased to hear how cool and calm his voice sounded, even with Vernon’s fist pumping him. “I haven’t felt it in some while. Are you bored, my love?” he inquired, kissing under Vernon’s jaw as his fingers teased, dipping to trace a few circles between Vernon’s foreskin and the head of his prick. He was rewarded with a growl and a needy buck of Vernon’s hips. “Oh my, so sensitive...”

Cocky old bastard, trying to tell the redhead how to do his job. Want another hand? Fuck, fine. He'll show that prim-and-proper sonofabitch a little something!

Vernon's left hand snapped up, grabbing his lover's face roughly as he smashed their lips together. His nails dug into the back of the musician's head, before dragging them across the olive nape. He could hear the rumble of his lover's moan as it came in contact with his skin. Feeling that his old man was distracted enough with their mouths, Vern had his left hand travel down Hops' body, all the while continuing his handjob with the other. When the claw got to his lover's waist, the top of the man's white pants where the opening was, he slipped under the fabric, and under the briefs, where nails met a soft and tight ass. Smirking into his kiss, he grabbed a cheek as he brought their hips closer. 

“Mm,” he growled as he parted their lips, left hand unyielding in its strength at keeping the man placed just how he wanted him, even as his fingers began to tease and caress the skin. Theodore shivered as a digit came in close contact to with his puckered entrance. “How's that? Keepin' busy enough for ya?”

“Oh my,” Theodore whispered, shuddering, cheeks and throat burning red. “I--that’s--yes, I would say that--” 

Vern stole whatever else he might have attempted to splutter out, pressing a grinning mouth to his lips. “Mm, bet you wish we had some lube,” Vern said, rubbing him firmly. “Nothin’ gets you hotter’n havin’ something in you, does it, beautiful?” 

Theodore felt himself squirming--damn it, he was still almost entirely dressed! How absolutely filthy! Vernon teased him cruelly, sliding over his hole to reach up and massage his perineum firmly. He had to kiss his lover, coordination beginning to fail. He could leave Vernon a boneless puddle on his living room floor if he could just gather his wits!

“Not just something,” he said, voice beginning to waver. “It has to be you.” 

“What?”

“Inside me,” he clarified, a little embarrassed to be saying it. “Nothing else...has quite this effect,” he added, kissing down the center line of Vernon’s chest. 

Vern grinned as Hops’ hot mouth slid down his body. Shit, his baby looked good when he was too hot and bothered to hide it! It made him smile like such a total dipshit, the way Hops reacted to him...he felt like the whole world could see how stupid he was over this guy. “Yeah? Gettin’ sappy on me again, sweetheart...what happened to all that whips-n-chains shit you were talking earlier?”

Hops kissed him, coaxing Vern’s tongue into his mouth as the redhead groped Hops’ ass a little. Maybe getting under his clothes was a tactical error--a little slap on the rump would be the perfect punctuation mark. Hops hitched up a little more and pushed their pricks together, his spare hand wrapping around Vern’s fingers and pumping them together. Vern hissed softly as he felt Hops’ pulse beat hard against his own dick. “Shit, baby...”

“I do want you inside me,” Hops purred, in a voice like smoke--hot and dark and just the kind of thing Vern wanted to suck right down to his core. “If it didn’t mean giving up your lovely hand...I’d take you right down my throat and fuck you with my mouth,” he promised, kissing Vern’s cheek in a shameless parody of modesty. He nibbled Vern’s earlobe gently--yeah, that was more like it--and Vern kicked his hips up, grinding into their hands and Hops’ hips. “My word, Vernon, the things you do to me, the things you make me want...”

“Yeah?” Shit, it was hard to keep up their banter when that elongated prick was jammed up close and personal to his own. He bucked again as he pushed down on his lovers' ass, forcing a thrust out of Mr. Grasshopper. “Then lay it on me, old man. I wanna hear all about your dirty fantasies. I wanna know about all the ways you imagine me fuckin' you till kingdom come. Shit, maybe we can compare notes!”

“A man of vision, as always, love.”

“Nah, I just really like fuckin' you till you can't see straight. You should hear my plans on getting a taste of your dick in every room of this house. Dubbed 'Blowjob Bingo'; and God damn, are ya gonna love it!”

The musician had the tendency of having trouble telling when his redheaded flame was cracking a joke just to tease him, and when the sunburnt man was being completely serious. However, as he looked down into the green pools of his lover's eyes, glistening with mischief yet cloudy with determination...Mr. Grasshopper realized that it was a promise. Affirmation of all the wild and delicious acts to come. And dear Lord, did the very thought send sensations straight to his throbbing member as he felt himself twitch from excitement. This man! Oh, this devil in flesh and mind was going to ruin him in every which way possible!

Vernon interrupted his musings as his rough palm picked up speed and resolve. Theodore gasped, trying find his breath. Suddenly the room was far too hot, and his suit was starting to cling to his body in way that made him feel uncomfortable. A dark skinned hand went to undo his vest, as he was stopped by a sudden hard squeeze to his member and nails digging into his rear.

“No you don't,” the gardener growled, “keep it. I wanna see ya get our cum all over that nice suit of yours. Make it as dirty as you really are. Ain't nobody gonna be able to deny it.”

Oh, dear Lord. It was surely indicative of some terrible fault in Theodore’s moral character, that such an accusation of wantonness could arouse him so intensely. He squirmed, skin flushed from embarrassed desire. “Oh...for goodness’ sake...how could I possibly...meet the cleaner’s eye?”

“Don’t care,” Vern replied, working the both of them with strong, firm strokes. He’d have never thought Hops liked a little bite in bed, but he couldn’t be more pleased; the way the old man got all excited over Vern being a little rough sure as hell got him going, too! “Everybody thinks you’re so prim and perfect and they have no fucking idea what you’re like, do they?”

Theodore was panting like a dog, flushed red and in total disarray as he found himself being kissed, hard. He tried to return the considerable favor that Vernon was doing, only to find himself wonderfully thwarted as the younger man drew him ever closer to the edge of his restraint. Even as he moved and burned with Vernon’s touch, he prayed he’d remembered to lock the door, a thrill of terror and--to his shame--dirty excitement rocketing up and down his spine at the thought that anyone could walk in on their tryst on the floor.

Obviously Vernon’s exhibitionist streak was rubbing off on him. In more ways than one.

“Yeah, that gets you real hot, don’t it?” Vernon said, in a perfectly audible speaking voice. Theodore kissed him, a pleasant activity to promote the possibility of Vernon lowering his voice thereafter. It worked, at least in a small measure, as Vernon broke away to mutter his words against Theodore’s neck. “You get off so fucking hard on being bad, don’t you? All it takes is a little dirty talk and you’re ready to fuck all night. Fuckin’ starvin’ for it, for me, shit, and I’m the only one who knows how much you want it, how to give it to ya just right...” 

Vernon snaked the hand down Theodore’s trousers up and out, giving him a sharp slap on the rear that made him gasp, hips rutting forward involuntarily. He grabbed one of Theodore’s hands and lifted it to his mouth, licking the sticky traces of their fluids from his skin and biting gently the Mound of Venus on his palm. Theodore made a noise like a dying thing, heart hammering in his throat as Vernon reduced him to shuddering with that hot mouth and strong fingers. 

“Oh, Vernon,” he breathed, attacking the neck and chest of his lover, hands ungracefully working the redhead’s body. He swallowed thickly, wanting to have even half the effect on Vernon that this wonderful man had on him. “Yes, my love, only you, oh, you’re going to drive me mad, Vernon, you make me such a wild animal...!”

“Damn straight I do. You're just so hot and want what I got for ya. Shit, just fuckin' love how you melt in my hands. Just turn into a fuckin' puddle n' I just love tastin' what's left of ya. God damn do you taste good!” 

Vernon licked his lover's hand some more, happy to have his tongue flick against the smooth and bony digits. He licked it clean, and then darted his tongue over his lips to retrieve the clear juices off of his chapped flesh. He noted with satisfaction that his old man stared the whole time.

“You ain't the only one that wants a piece of dick, Hops. But ya know, some other time. I can have your pecker deep throated any ol' time. But shit, this is the first time I've had ya in a white suit and I want both you and it soiled. Fuck, Hops, I don't know where ya been hiding it.”

Before Mr. Grasshopper could protest, the older man was startled as he was thrown onto his back as his younger lover pinned him down. The Englishman moaned as their bodies were pressed tighter together, Vernon putting his whole weight on him, as he grabbed both of their members once more. His olive-toned erection was compressed into his vest, and every movement had the fabric rub intoxicatingly onto his member’s head. He felt his gardener thrust with every stroke, fucking his own hand as much as he was handling Theodore. Mr. Grasshopper squirmed, delirious from the attention, as he tried to grip onto his lover's back and stay a part of this glorious reality.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” Theodore gasped, half-hoping he was wrong. “You--you can’t really mean to--”

“Yeah, you like that?” Vern growled, grinning fiercely at the way Hops throbbed in his hand. “How’s that for a fucking tango, beautiful? God damn, just fuckin’ look at you,” he said, voice shifting into a low groan as Hops’ hands dove under his shirt and scratched down his back. “Shit! Still fuckin’ gorgeous, lookin’ like a fuckin’ angel, gettin’ humped on your living room floor in a prissy white suit...” Vern dipped his head to give Hops a kiss, a touch that was not so much a loving press of lips as it was a shameless excuse to do a few obscene things with Vern’s tongue and Hops’ mouth. “Gonna get those angel wings sticky. I’m gonna make us come all over you and I bet it’ll blend right in...”

Theodore shivered violently, cheeks growing impossibly hotter as he felt himself already dribbling out onto his vest. Vernon was serious! He was really going to--on his--

The thought brought him so close to the edge he nearly lost control then and there, an intoxicating mixture of appalled ecstasy burning his blood. He made a thoroughly pathetic noise of impassioned distress. He couldn’t really let Vernon do that to him, right on his vest, so that even after getting it cleaned, every time he wore it, he’d remember how his lover wanted to make him dirty, how he did this shocking, filthy thing to him, staining him, marking him, debauching him!

Could he?

Oh, for the love of heaven, think of the dry cleaning!

“Please, let me take you in my mouth,” he begged, more half-hearted in this request than he felt his voice suggested. Thank God for that! “I’ll suck you dry and lick you clean but you mustn’t--oh, God, Vernon, we mustn’t just...!”

Shit! Hops’ voice sent a throb right through Vern’s dick and he growled, almost painfully hard from the way Hops begged for him. God damn, he was hot when he asked for something and fucking radioactive when he begged like that; Vern’d have to be made of stone not to take a deal like that...

But fortunately, Hops had made him harder than fucking granite and he only had to think of that gorgeous white suit and the gorgeous, much-too-clean man in it, underneath him and squirming and finally, satisfyingly dirty, to decide against it. Besides, his baby doth protest too much...he could hear the quiver of excitement in Hops’ voice loud and clear. 

Did Hops just say “must not”?

Oh, he had to know what that did to Vern.

Plus, he wouldn’t ruin him too much. Vern was a janitor. He’d be good to him and...clean him up, afterwards.

“Shit, baby,” Vern groaned. “Love the way you beg. Gonna take you up on that later, sugar.” He grinned, carrying away Hops’ little noise of concern with another kiss. His hand made a wet, filthy noise as he pushed and rubbed them together, already making a little mess of Hops’ clothes. “Fuck, you’re so hard, can’t even pretend...yeah, I knew you’d get off on someone--on me--making you misbehave. Damn, beautiful, I love that...” 

He rutted his hips against Hops’ prick and vest, the soft, silky fabric and hot, slick skin against his dick making him growl loudly, especially when Hops’ hips rubbed up against him with a mind of their own. “Christ, you got balls, callin’ me dirty when you’re begging like a fuckin’ porn star...sexy son of a bitch, God damn me I love ya...”

Those words! That praise! Equally uncouth and unclean as it was loving, and it drove the older man savage in his wants and desires. Oh Lord, pray, do have mercy on him. He was in love with this devil, this demon spawned from the very fires of Hell, and he uttered such sweet and resplendent temptations that surely not the likes of the dark skinned musician could ignore. And as this man, his beloved Vernon, pumped and thrust against them both, those growls and moans like the song of a siren luring him to a disastrous fate. And damn him, if that didn't make his loins tremble all the more!

Mr. Grasshopper's neatly trimmed nails dig into his lover's back, gripping onto the sun-baked flesh as he could feel it become moist from their activities. Oh, those coarse hands were driving him wild! It took all his effort to not look down at those hands that were pumping him of his seed. But he must not! Oh, he could not bear to look down at his vest and see himself dripping on it! He could feel it, and the sound sensitive man could swear he heard it too! The plopping noise of liquid hitting silk, even as the rustle of fabrics and the juicy sloshing of pre-cum on stroked flesh overpowered it. But it was there! And he heard it! 

“Vernon...” 

“Shit, babe. The way your pretty lips say my name..” The gardener grunted, oh God damn. It wasn't fair what this old bastard did to him. It was just his fucking name! “Sexy sonofabitch. Yeah, Hops, but I got your number. Shit, tryin' to act all sweet and genteel all the time. But then I got your hard-on in my hands n' you jus' want it rough and bad.” To prove his point, the redhead pumped them both harder and faster-- and damn was it doin' things to him! He felt that olive dick spasm, he felt the blood rush and grow hotter. Shit! It was just some frottage, but the way Hops squirmed and bucked underneath him...God damn, it did things to him too! His old man wanted him any way he could get, and he's be a liar if he said that wasn't the hottest thing this side of town. Or in the goddamn universe, for that matter. Oh shit, the pressure in his prick was becoming way too much to handle! 

One of Theodore’s hands slid down to grab Vernon’s rear, pulling him impossibly closer and squeezing his flesh. “Yes, yes, please, no more teasing,” he breathed, tilting his head up the necessary inches to seize Vernon’s mouth. “Please, do it...”

Vern growled, bucking. “Yeah?” he panted, grinding down against Hops hard. “Yeah?”

Theodore could feel how close Vernon was, and decided--well--if he couldn’t have his way with his mouth, at least he’d have his way with his hands. One hand still clinging to Vernon’s back with desperate desire, his other hand found a place at the tip of Vernon’s prick, as his lover’s hand was currently pressing their cocks together and against his clothing. 

Theodore touched him as lightly as he could in his frantic and uncoordinated state, sightlessly rubbing his lover’s tip as he kept his eyes away from the filthy sight that must meet him, should he look between their bodies. The mere thought of it made him dizzy. 

“Do it, darling,” he sighed, hand raking down Vernon’s back. His lover would resemble a scratching post by the end of this. “I want you to finish on me. Right across my vest.”

“Oh, shit,” Vernon hissed, an almost pained noise as his hips began to stammer.

“That’s right,” Theodore insisted, cheeks flushed darkly. Coaxing Vernon to completion helped him tamp down his own ardour and he felt he was almost perfectly coherent. “Oh, you dirty, filthy boy...do you want to stain me? Smear it into my clothing?” He nuzzled against Vernon’s neck. “Mark me like an animal?”

“Fuck!” Vern groaned, hoarse and shuddering. Jesus Christ, when Hops started talking dirty to him...! It was uptight and kinky and if he didn’t so something soon, he’d bust a fucking nut all over Hops before his old man lost it, all over that nice vest and that’d be...something, he couldn’t think, not when Hops was talking to him like some filthy God damn limey sex freak! 

“Dirty boy,” Hops purred, repeating himself. “That’s right. Debauch me, Vernon, defile me...I’m so clean and so restrained all the time and I need a filthy fucking mutt like you to remind me how good it feels to be nothing but a dirty little--”

Vern wasn’t sure what the last word was, but he’d started to lose it by the time Theodore called him a fucking dog in that cultured, perfect voice of his and it just got hotter from there. It didn’t really matter, did it? What mattered was how hot Hops was, how he made this incredible noise as Vern blew it all across his clothes, and fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he could think of, just now...

The gardener panted as his lover rubbed his back, soothing him back to reality. Vernon looked down to see the mess he made, while still trying to find his breath, as he smirked with wicked glee and satisfaction. His jizz was all over the now soiled vest and stomach of his lover. But...shit, his old man still had a thick and hard cock that was just begging for its release! And he could see the look in his lover's eyes that wanted...No, that NEEDED Vern to take him and release him of his sexual tension.

And who was Vern to deny his sexy sonofabitch?

Before Theodore could question his motives, the ginger slid off the lanky frame of his lover, bringing his head to the dark skinned man's thin abdomen. Shit, Hops trembled just from Vern licking off his own juices off of him! Mm, won't it be nice to see the old man got when the janitor sucked and clean him dry, too? Oh hell, yeah it would be! 

And that was just what Vernon did. After lapping up his cum off the other's stomach, his tongue trailed its way down to the throbbing member just begging to be drained sapless. Twisting his head and neck, the sunburnt man dragged his chapped lips from the base, up the shaft, until he reached its peak. Grabbing the base with one hand, and pinning down an olive hip with the other, Vern Centipede devoured the pecker with gusto. And damn him, if hearing his old bastard moan wasn't enough to begin to excite his own dick again!

Theodore writhed on the hardwood floor, as helpless and as mindless as a worm on a hook. Less than a minute had passed since Vernon had reached climax and he’d been so gentle and relaxed and motionless, perfectly willing to lie there and gasp for breath and allow Theodore to pet him and let him calm down--and suddenly he was again a dervish, in control and unhesitating while Theodore could do nothing but squirm and pant senselessly, undone beneath him.

He didn’t say a word--the thought that Vernon was well-mannered enough not to speak with his mouth full sent an electric thrill zipping up his spine--but it was that mouth, that wonderful, dirty mouth, and, oh dear God, his beautiful, hot, soft, wet throat, and the sounds he made, and the way he held Theodore down like he honestly thought the man would leave or would allow himself to be removed from him, as if he could, as if anything on this earth could impel him to part from Vernon, either now or ever--

Vern swallowed thickly around Hops’ prick, loving the way his fingers and limbs spasmed slightly. Hops was petting his hair with slow, trembling strokes, and it occurred to him that he ought to see how much teasing it took to make Hops desperate enough that he’d be so impolite as to push his head on him or, oh fuck yeah, just hold Vern in place and fuck his throat...

Hops was making all these sexy little noises, and shit, but Vern hadn’t had this kind of appetite since he was a damn kid. There was just something about Hops that made him feel like a damn jackrabbit on Viagra in the Spring time, and all he wanted to do was fuck and fuck and fuck. Hell, maybe some of that twenty years of celibacy thing Hops was working off had rubbed onto him.

He curled his tongue around Hops, loving those desperate little animal sounds, loving the way Hops shifted one leg to cross over one of Vern’s thighs, attempting more of those all-over embraces his old man seemed so fond of. Damn, Hops was the most romantic son of a bitch when he was getting his cock sucked, and fuck if Vern knew how that was possible, except that it was hot and he loved it and he loved his man for it. He dipped his head down and slurped, wanting to laugh at the way Hops gasped and made this cute little embarrassed noise.

“Ver--Vernon...oh, Vernon, I...oh, oh yes, I’m...I...you’ll m-make me...love, please, I...”

Fuck him, but if that didn’t get him all worked up, hearing Hops too out of his mind to talk right. Memo to Vern: find how to keep him that desperate and incoherent for a longer chunk of time, because damn it was hot. Instead of replying to Hops’ warning, Vern swallowed around him again, sliding his hand away from the base of Hops’ prick to jingle his bells and grab one of the hands in his hair, rubbing his thumb firmly into the sensitive palm, eating his baby alive.

Mr. Grasshopper's hips bucked and squirmed as he released his load into his lover's mouth. Oh, how his redheaded flame drank him up, delicious slurping noises and all! His ears were ringing from his climax, and yet the older man could still clearly hear those wonderful noises over it. And his wonderful man continued to suck him in, as he made sure his manhood was tapped out. With shaky hands, still trying to lift his fogged perception of the world as he basked in his after sex bliss, Theodore lifted the gardener's head off of his cock, to look into those beautiful green eyes.

“Vernon...that was...”

“'Absolutely filthy', yeah, I know. But I know for a fact you fuckin' loved it.”

“Mm, yes,” Mr. Grasshopper said with a sigh, as his younger lover climbed up his body, kissing his cheek, “though, that wasn't what I was going to say at all, darling. I was going to say 'simply wonderful.'”

“Tomato. Tamahto.”

“I can never wear this vest again,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured in a conversational tone. “It’s such a shame. I’ve always liked this waistcoat. I shall have to ask Mrs. Mere about a new one in this color.”

“Just get it cleaned,” Vern replied, kissing his jaw.

“How could I face the dry cleaner?”

“I’ll take it down.” His lips shifted over to his neck.

“They shall know it belongs to me, Vernon.”

Vern lifted his eyebrows, slowly kissing just behind Mr. Grasshopper’s ear, the soft patch of skin where his jawbone suddenly tilted upwards. “What, you ashamed of me, babe?”

“Perish the thought,” Mr. Grasshopper argued, turning to face Vern and kissing him slowly on his lips. “I do not wish to rub their noses in their misfortune.”

“What?” Vern asked, kissing Hops slowly.

“Why, you surely didn’t do such a thing to them,” Mr. Grasshopper murmured, their lips locking together and parting lazily. “It would be the height of poor manners to flaunt my happiness before them.”

Vern wrinkled his nose, laughing softly. “Shit, baby, you’re a freak.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Grasshopper sighed non-committally. He and Vernon kissed for several minutes, perfectly content on the living room floor, until Vernon’s stomach rumbled. Mr. Grasshopper put himself and Vernon back to rights with deft hands, somewhat gingerly removing his vest. “Let us order something to eat, shall we? I suppose you could cook, if you desired, but I confess I’m much more strongly feeling the urge to kiss you on my sofa than to allow you to bustle about with knives and pans.”

“Damn,” Vern grinned, brushing back his hair. “Ya really are catnip for widows and housewives, aren’t’cha?”

Mr. Grasshopper smiled and they relocated to the sofa, the filthy vest abandoned on the floor.

Theodore made Vernon clean it up afterwards. It was his fault, after all.


End file.
